The Phantom's Assistant
by Lady Gisbourne
Summary: Michelle Le'Clair'e; Erik's unknown friend who aids him in his conquest for Christine. Chapters start before the popular film and will end along side the play Love Never Dies. Please Comment as we go. Erik won't tell me how it ends!
1. Chapter 1

Michelle Le'Clair'e sat by her father's bed, watching his last moments, as his final breath came.

"You will go to the Opera Popular. I promised your mother that if something happened to me, that would be where you went-not the orphanage." His Russian accent was think with a hint of vodka, a mercy for someone dying of a disease that no one could reverse, "The Madame Giry will be here to collect you soon."

"I don't want to leave you,"

"You will never be able to do that, my little songbird; You will always be in my heart."

Michelle could feel the tears fall down her face as he drew his final shaky breath.

The nurses came soon after to clean th corpse, and dress him for his funeral. Michelle didn't know where they would take him; they had become poor over the last few years as she sold everything she posessed to pay for edicine or doctors to treat her father's decaying organs.

She sat there for a long while in silence just staring at the bed in silence when a hand rached out and touched her shoulder.

"Michelle?"

She looked up to see an older woman though very young in society standards.

"Madame Giry?"

"Yes, are you ready to go, my dear?"

She blinked back tears, rising from her chair, "Almost-I have to pack. I won't be long."

The Madame rose her brow, "Not packed yet?"

"No-I wanted to be here and say goodbye first."

"Of course,"

Michelle followed the Madame out of the room and then broke away to retreat upstairs.

Madame Giry watched her leave then went outside to where her daughter leaned out the window of their carriage watching her.

"Is she coming?"

"Yes. She will join us in a few minutes. She is packing."

"Packing? Now?"

"Yes dear." Meg was a beautiful daughter at the age of twelve, already begining to develop into womanhood, and yet she was still so young in what adulthood would be like.

The madame watched the front door waiting patiently as the child came forth with a tiny package of things followed by a maid with severe scarring.

Looks much like Erik, she mused.

The child embraced the maid, and watched as the maid gave her a yellow velvet rose, and walked her the rest of the way to the Madame.

"Are you ready my dear?"

"Yes ma'am," Michelle answered after releasing the maid, "Good bye Herriott,"

"Good bye my darling,"

Madame Giry aided Michelle into the carriage, and then turned to Herriott, "I shall keep you posted on how she is doing. As she grows I shall also send you notices of when she is to appear on stage."

"I would appreciate that,"

Madame Giry climbed into the trailer and they were off.

Meg sat next to Michelle, "I'm Meg,"

"Michelle,"

"You packed so little,"

"I sold it all to pay fr my father's medicine."

"Everything?" the Madame was shocked.

"Yes-all of my inheritance from my mother, and much of the things that my father would send to me."

"Yet there is nothing in the house," the Madame coutered.

"I tried to save him Madame."

"Did they tell you anything about his funeral?"

"No,"

Oh dear, the Madame mused to herself realizing that he would be buried in a conjunction cemetary for everyone who couldn't pay for their funeral-much like Mozart.

"I shall look into it." she answered as they went across town to pick up their final orphan; Christine Daae.

Christine was already waiting for them, and Meg jumped out of the carriage to embrace her.

"Christine!"

"Meg!"

"Oh I cannot wait to begin lessons with you!"

They began to chatter as the Madame came out to gather what things she had packed.

A boy came running to Christine who looked truly upset. The Madame recalled it being the future count Raoul.

"Christine, please don't leave!"

"Oh Raoul, it'll be alright. We'll see eachother again soon. And you'll know where to find me,"

"But Christine,"

"Raoul, it's okay." she embraced him as he broke down into tears.

Christine's maid pulled Raoul away and together they watched as Meg and Christine entered the carriage. Michelle had moved to so she sat beside the Madame, permitting Meg and Christine the opportunity to sit together.

How polite of the child. She didn't know why she referred to Michelle as a child despite the fact that she was fifteen, and in a few months would become sixteen.

The dormatory for the women was relatively spacious and Michelle took a bed to the far end of the room pressed up against a wall, and watched as Meg and Christine chose two beds next to one another.

An older girl entered giving out orders and barking at every girl. She saw Meg and Christine, clearly not seeing Michelle.

"I thought there were three of you coming."

Meg pointed over at Michelle. She glanced at the young red-orange haired girl and then back at Christine.

"Which one is Daae?"

"I am," Christine answered.

"Be warned princess, I am the future sopranna, and I will not tolorate your protests. My daddy is the patron here."

"Yeah, patron of this and whore houses," one of the other girls in the dorm remarked coldly.

"How dare you bring that up here!"

"You brought up your daddy. I am only here to remind you of what he is."

"Gah!" the older girl shrieked, and vanished.

"Who was that?" Christine asked.

"Alyssa Carlotta, hieress to a very wealthy family, and one of the top women to recieve the future position of leading sopranna." the blonde girl who attacked Carlotta answered, "I am Fylise,"

Michelle tuned everyone out and returned to placing her posessions in their rightful places. She hadn't packed much; one change of clothes, a nightgown, and a few bathroom essentials. She had also slid what silver she could find that she would sell for any supplies she needed in case she was never paid.

Meg came over to her to see how she was settling in.

"Are you doing okay?"

"Sure,"

"Carlotta thinks she's the boss because she's turning eighteen next week."

Michelle shrugged.

"Do you have anything to say?"

"No, Carlotta cannot frighten me."

"No?"

"No," Michelle confirmed.

"Why's that?" Christine asked having joined her dear friend.

"Because I have seen things far worse than her."

"Have you?" Fylise asked.

"Yes, and nothing that I am willing to share with you today."

"What is your accent?"

"A mix,"

"Of what?" Meg asked.

"Irish, russian, and french."

"It's a bit strange," Fylise remarked.

"Well I have never been normal," she answered, as the Madame came into the dormatory.

"Ladies, your classes are about to begin."


	2. Chapter 2

Michelle awoke abruptly in the middle of the night. The dormatory was pitch black and nothing could be seen-but she could hear the distinct sound of a human voice. She struck a match and lit a candle, her ears sharpening to pick out words or sounds to find the identity of the voice. The light however didn't yield any answers, as she stared into the silent dorm.

So where was the voice coming from?

From the foot of her bed the wall movedand opened as somene entered. There was no real door there, and Michelle held her breath as a human entered the room, closing the door behind itself. Michelle watched as it looked about itself then she realized that it was a boy-a young man was more precise. He closed the door, and stepped more into the bedroom, placing his hand on the bed railing at the foot to Michelle's bed. He didn't see her yet which gave Michelle an opprotunity to study him; young, slender, and pale, wearing a mask to cover a mystery on one side of his face.

His eyes flickered against the candlelight and then he saw Michelle.

Michelle held her breath as he turned to face the awake human and moved closer hie pale green-blue eyes locked on her emerald greens.

"Christine?"

"No,"

"Who are you?"

"Michelle Le'Clair'e,"

"Michelle," his voice sounded warm as he repeated her name. She felt slightly uncomfortable, but was curious more than anything why this man had entered the women's chamber, "Why are you awake when it's so late out?"

"I couldn't sleep,"

"No?"

"Nightmares,"

"Of course," he remarked, "This place does that even for me,"

"And you are?"

"Erik," he sat down on the bed near Michelle who sat up straighter and pulled her knees to herself. He stuck his hand out but when Michelle reached out to shake it, he drew the top of her hand to his lips and kissed it's surface. She trembled under his tender touch.

"Why are you here Erik?"

"I am Christine's tutor-her angel I suppose. I am here to teach her song so she can become the leading sopranna over Carlotta."

"You don't like her either?"

"No," he answered shortly, and glanced about in the darkness until he saw Christine.

"Why teach her at night? She won't answer you in her sleep."

"She learns better that way-when she's asleep. The music of the night possesses more power than daylight dancing." he paused, "Though Madame Giry tells me that you are one of her brightest pupils so far."

Michelle blushed, and nodded shortly, "I hope to stay here and perform-it was my father's wishes."

"Can you sing?"

"I think so-I was at least good enough for my father and his guests when he would play on the piano."

"Your family was good enough to let you sing-it's a good sign."

"They loved me very much, but I don't know if I was really that good."

"Well, if it's of any consolation, Madame Giry thinks you area very promising student."

"It is good news," she shrugged and smiled broader than before.

He noticed her expression, "Perhaps you can help me one day,"

"How? I am not that good," Michelle dropped her head, knowing the look he was glancing at Christine-love.

"I am writing my own opera. I could use someone that Madame Giry likes for proofreading."

Michelle was flattered; she was only sixteen, "I would be happy to help you."

He grinned, "Glad to hear it." his gaze returned to Christine; "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

"She's only twelve," Michelle could hear the small pang of jealousy and immediatly dropped her head in shame.

Erik caught her chin and rose it, "Not everyone is fortunate to be like you Michelle,"

"What do you mean?"

"Talented and beautiful is a rare combination,"

Michelle's brow rose as she looked at Erik, "But you,"

His finger was pressed against her lips then, "I am not beautiful. I am a monster, and an angel of death," he rse and started for the door he had entered from.

"Wait," Michelle protested rising from her bed, and snathing his arm drawing him back to face her, "You are no monster,"

"You know nothing then, Michelle." he turned away but not fast enough to miss Michelle's hand snap out catching the ceramic mask, and it fell onto the think carpet they stood on soundlessly.

Erik's hand went up to cover his markings, but Michelle snatched his hand, "No, Erik. I know much. This face cannot kill." she sounded angry, and she hoped that he understood this genuine emotion, "I have seen much, and I sat next to death himself as he took my father away. Death took my mother before I had a chance to remember her. My closest friend Herriott was burnt as punishment for her innocent mistakes, and was mauled by dogs for amusement until my father took her from her previous owner. Tell me I know nothing, Erik, I know a lot." her voice was low enough despite her anger that no one stirred.

Erik's defenses lowered his arm dropped and they stood there staring at one another, waiting for the other to break. When no one did, Erik reached out and stroked her cheek.

"You're right, Michelle, but I am right also; I have killed. One day I shall tell you about it, but not tonight. It's late, and we both need rest. Tomorrow perhaps we shall talk again, little songbird."

Michelle bent down and picked up the mask she had knocked off of him, and placed it in his hands. His bright colored eyes glistened with respect. She took it as a good sign.

"Until tomorrow," he said curtly, and once he returned the mask to it's rightful place vanished through his door.

Michelle looked forward to meeting Erik at night, his polite manner loosened as they discussed music, politics, family, and Erik's personal favorite to inquire about; life outside the opera house.

"How old are you Erik?"

"Madame Giry believes that I am twenty-two."

"Twenty-two," she chewed on it. that was six years her senior.

"She rescued me when I was ten. She was not well treated for what she did, and not long after that, she was pregnant. Not by me, but by one of the older dancers here. Meg was born at the turn of my first year here."

Michelle nodded wathing the girls sleep. They sat on her own bed watching them dream. It was close to the end of their normal meetings when he suddenly asked a random question.

"Have you ever been on the rooftop here?"

"Of the opera house? No,"

"Would you join me? The moon is out tonight."

"Of course-but not too long. There are classes that I must attend tomorrow."

"Indeed." He took her hand and lead her through his secret door, and through a narrow corridoor to the main stage.

She paused noticing how large the stage was in the dark.

"What is it?"

"The stage," she answered, staring at its vastness.

"It's large in the dark. Wait until you become the leading sopranna."

"It takes on a whole new light then," she agreed, and then turned to face Erik and follow him further.

He lead her to a metal staircase and as they reached the top and around a few narrow wooden aisles, they reached the trapdoor to the top.

A whoosh of cold air hit them in the face as they stepped out into the cold. The skies were clear, and pristine. Stars littered the sky, and the moon was full of it's luminous glory.

"Oh Erik, this was a good idea."

He drew her to his side, his hand at her waist, "I know."

They stood in silence their breath making ice crystals in the air.

She leaned up against him after a while, her head on his shoulder as a sound came from behind them.

"Well, well, well. What do we have here? Trespassers?"

"No, sir." Michelle turned to face the security guard, Joseph, "No my dear friend asked for me to come out and see the glory of the moon tonight."

"Who are you two?"

"Michelle Le'Clair'e," she paused looking to Erik, who had suddenly vanished from her side. She glanced about turning in a full circle before Joseph slammed the trapdoor shut, and she heard the lock latch from the inside.

Gasping, Michelle raced back to the door, slamming her hands into the ledges trying to pry the door open, only to have her fingers grow numb from fighting against the cold.

"Damn it!" she hissed to herself. She stood and looked about herself; there had to be another way into the building. She looked about herself in the darkness seeking her passage, only to find nothing, and worst of all; no Erik.

Where had he gone?

He must have found a door, she told herself, and tried to follow his footsteps only able to find her own had confused the precise steps he had taken.

She cursed, sitting up against a vent, and tucking her cloak about herself. She would sit here for the rest of the night, and in the morning she would find the door Erik took, or she would try the trap door again.

She stared up at the moon and watched it cross the sky, certain that she would be fine out here on her own.

Madame Giry did a count of participants in her morning warm ups before she began teaching her students how to perform for one of the future youth performances that she usually coordinated. The class usually had a missing student due to parents visitin, but one of her most advnced students was missing. She did role call in her head several times before she realized that Michelle Le'Clair'e was missing. She gestured to Meg to come forward while everyone was still warming up.

"Have you seen Meg today?"

"No-I thought she just got a head start on today's activities."

"I doubt that," Carlotta remarked.

"Why?" Meg asked turning to the ever so nosey Carlotta.

"Because if you've noticed ove the last couple of weeks, she's been brighter than normal. She was all sad before two weeks ago."

"What do you suspect, Alyssa?" Madame Giry asked.

Carlotta rose her brow at her teacher, "Why the obvious; she's got a romantic partner."

"I don't think so," Meg countered, "Someone would have seen her with someone then."

"Enough," Madame Giry cut the two girls off. She was certain neither one was correct, but then again, Carlotta was right about one thing; Michelle had been in a great mood over the last few weeks. Had she really met someone? She prayed not; the girl had a harmonious set of pipes made for singing. Her life could be well carved out for her here.

She would check with Joseph Fukay and see if he had seen her. She turned her attention back to her students thinking she would send for him after today's class.

Madame Giry found Joseph on his lunch break, and didn't show her any expression of her presense.

"What can I do for you today, Madame?"

"One of my students is missing, Joseph."

His brow rose slightly, "What's their name?"

"Michelle Le'Clair'e,"

He dropped his sandwich on his plate, "Damn,"

"I beg your pardon?" Madame Giry drew a blank on why he would curse over one student.

"Le'Clair'e?"

"Yes," Madame Giry confirmed, "Michelle,"

"Hell," he muttered, and grabbed his keys from a hook on his belt.

"What?"

"You've checked everywhere?"

"She's my best student, misseur. She never misses a class."

"Follow me," he said rising from his seat on the lunch bench.

He lead Madame Giry across the master stage to a cascading staircase going up to the roof.

Why are we going this way? Madame Giry wondered, as he unlocked a padlock securing the trapdoor to the roof, and pushed it open.

Then she noticed the scratch marks along the edges of the trapdoor that were fresh.

"Joseph?"

"There were a couple of kids out here last night, and I thought they were trespassers."

"I will be the judge of who is and isn't a trespasser, Joseph. You shouldn't have left them out here."

"The boy vanished." he answered helping her onto the roof.

"Boy?"

"Yeah-dark haired, masked. More an adult if you asked me."

Erik? Madame Giry wondered. "Did Michelle follow?"

"No, she looked about confused when he vanished and I shut the door."

She could have slapped him then-she had done it many times before, but her only concern was what had happened to her young pupil Michelle.

Frost had set a fine layer across the roof overnight, causing the air to be crisp and Madame Giry's nerves to twist as she walked about the rooftop.

In the far corner near a heating duct, she found Michelle tucked up into a tight bundle. She was very pale, but alive.

"Joseph!" she shouted.

The stage hand sprinted over to her side and helped her raise the teenager from the frost and back inside the opera house. She lead him back to the girls dormatory where he left Madame Giry with Michelle to change her out of her frozen clothing and into bed. Michelle didn't awake during the entire movement.

Madame Giry hoped she would recover, as she set the hearth alight with fire, to draw heat into the dorm. She was afraid to lose one of her brightest students.

Meg entered the dormatory with Christine, and paled when she saw Michelle unconcious with a hint of blue touching her fingers and lips.

"Where was she?"

"On the roof." Madame Giry answered.

"Why?"

"I won't know until she awakes."

Christine looked at Michelle with dread, "Was it the Opera Ghost?"

"There is no such thing," Madame Giry informed Christine.

"But," Meg started, but Madame Giry shot her daughter a sharp look.

"No, Meg. This was no ghost. Jpseph Fukay saw her out on the roof with someone. Perhaps Carlotta was correct about her finding someone."

"That would be a first," Christine remarked.

Madame Giry grinned lightly, but tried to remain serious, "Has she been seen with anyone here in the dormatory?"

"No-it's against the rules for opposite genders to fratinize in the dormatories. Michelle follows the rules too well to break that one."

"Who would she have been up there with?" Meg questioned.

"Yes, I wonder that myself." Madame Giry remarked, "I will stay here tonight and keep watch. I want to see if anyone enters the dormatory in the night."

Michelle's coloring hadn't improved when night fell, and in Madame Giry's opintion, the girl had picked up a fever that was beyond her control.

Fate would have to determine the girl's future.

Madame Gir sat with a cup of tea watching the fire, when a door opened near Michelle's bed, and the Madame knew who it was immediatly.

Erik; the boy she had saved from the traveling carnival.

She wasn't sure which he saw first; the fire or herself.

"Anne," he said in a low tone, as he came to stand by her side.

"Erik, what are you doing here in the girls dormatory?"

He dropped his gaze glancing back at Michelle.

"I came to see how she was-if she was able to get back inside last night."

"How did you get back inside?"

"A window," Erik answered shortly his gaze fixed on the unconscious Michelle.

"Josheph Fukay left her out on the rooftop last night intending for you both to freeze for trespassing. He didn't realize that she was one of my students."

"How long was she out there?"

"Until midday today, when I asked him if he had seen one of my students."

Erik paled dropping to his knees in obvious regret.

"I didn't know he would leave her out there,"

"What did you think would happen, being out there if you got caught?" Madame Giry's anger was rising, despite feeling sorry for her friend.

"But," he couldn't speak, hid mind clearly overflowing with thoughts and emotions.

"What were you two doing out there?"

"Talking," Erik answered quickly, "I took her to the roof because the moon was full last night. It's one of the most beautiful sights to see from the opera house roof."

She could see that he was telling the truth, "How long have you been coming here?"

"Two weeks, give or take. Michelle caught me on my first attempt as I sought Christine." His eyes went to her bed, "She doens't know I've been here. I end up spending the night talking to Michelle instead."

"About what?"

"Everything, Anne. She tells me about the world and tells me about things that I have never heard of."

She smiled, "You have grown attached."

"I have,"

"There are recitals in two months for the new leading sopranna. If Michelle can recover in time, she can take over the role. Carlotta otherwise is in line for the position. Christine's too young for it. Three seasons or so from now perhaps she will be ready-old enough to participate."

Erik stared at Anne, "What are you suggesting?"

"If Michelle pulls through, take her under your wing; you're a genious Erik. You need a student."

"But what if-,"

"If she dies?" Madame Giry cut him off, "If Michelle dies you will have no reason to return here."

The room seemed fuzzy, and Michelle blinked to refocus her vision. Her dreams had been hazy, full of confusion and left her inable to recall how she had made it back to her bed in the dormatory. It was light out-that much she could see. She sat up, unable to recall anything. The only thing she could think was the sudden need to use the powder room. When she returned, she sat on her matress thinking trying to recall her last memory. She could recall being on the rooftop with Erik, but nothing after that. She recalled how kind he was, how he held her near him as they watched the night sky.

Nothing came to her after that.

No one was in the dormatory, and she sat waiting for some sign of that time it was, but when no sign came she decided to dress and wander the opera house. Her footsteps made no sounds as her dress's hem danced around her knees. No one saw her as she entered the main theatre where Madame Giry's class was ending their seminar for the day. Meg saw her first, and leapt off the stage to her.

"You're alive!"

Michelle nodded, as she accepted Meg's warm embrace. The others paused their practice as Madame Giry turned to face Michelle.

"Welcome back, dear child." was all Madame Giry said directly at her, "Class is dismissed for today."

The others joined Meg, in seeing Michelle, embracing her and trying to get her to reveal what had happened.

"How long have I been out?" she asked Meg when the others left the theatre.

"A week,"

"Seriously?"

"Yes. Mother and Joseph Fukay found you up on the roof passed out nearly dead from the cold."

"What were you doing up there?" Christine asked, sitting beside Meg in the opera seats.

"Watching the moon,"

"Good cover, Mitch." Carlotta snapped, "But we know that there had to be a man up there for you to go that way."

"No," Michelle answered, "I went up on my own."

"Ladies," Madame Giry called out from the stage, "Michelle and I need to talk; she can answer your questions later."

Meg nodded and catching Christine's hand lead her from the theatre for the dining commons. Carlotta stared at Michelle a moment longer before following.

"I bet there's a boy involved,"

"No," without thinking further got up from her seat and went to the Madame.

"Come," Madame Giry took Michelle's hand lightly, and led her to her office.

When the door was closed behind them, Madame Giry had her take a seat.

"Have you eaten?"

"No, not yet."

"Then I will do my best to keep this short, Michelle." her voice had a hint of coldness to it, causing Michelle to mentally cower.

"Okay,"

Madame Giry spoke before the word had become silent, "I didn't let you come here to die. Nor was it my intent for you to be such a match for Erik."

Michelle's eyes widened slightly, knowing that she had been had.

"Erik told me everything-some he didn't even have to say. But because I have no intention of taking love from Erik, I am granting you this one stroke of affection. I would prefer that you keep it to yourself. Erik has promised me his highest level of confidentiality. Nobody else needs to know about your friend-yet. He likes you very much Michelle-don't blow this, for he may go mad otherwise."

"What are you telling me, Madame?"

"I am letting you have your friend. Erik is to be discreet in his visitations however, and he has to prepare you for the auditions that are soon to arrive anyway."

"What auditions?"

"For leading sopranna-Lady Jenifer is leaving for marital purposes."

"Sopranna?"

"Yes. He is eager for you to take it over, little songbird-unless your short comma has rendered your voice."

"I don't think so,"

"Good, now go eat something. Erik will probably drop in tonight to see you. He's been checking on you every night."

"Has he?"

"Yes, I told you; he likes you very much." she paused, "Now go; I have paperwork to do."


	3. Chapter 3

Michelle entered the empty practice room that Erik has told her to go to. Her heart beat in her temples. The night before he had been overjoyed to see her awake, and they had talked in depth about the mishap that had caused Michelle's comma, and then into what she had missed in her classes.

_"Don't you sleep?" she asked him, as he sat beside her._

_"Oh I do, just it's in strange hours, and I prefer the night to the day."_

_"But there is so much to see in the day."_

_"I have seen enough of the daylight." _

_Michelle didn't press further, their topic changing to their task of preparing her for the auditions for leading sopranna._

_"Christine's not ready yet to audition," Erik explained, "And I don't want Carlotta to recieve the honor."_

_Despite Erik's full honesty, Michelle couldn't help but feel some sadness for Erik's obvious favoring for Christine._

_"Don't look so sad Michelle," he remarked calmly, "You are one of my only friends in this opera house."_

_That thought made her grin weakly, despite the growing emotions that had taken over her heart._

Now, Erik looked serious; this was what Erik was meant to do-compose, teach, and inspire. He marked a spot on the floor with a black ribbon.

"Stand here, and stand as you would if you were to sing something for your audience."

She did as told, eager to please but willing not to be over-zealous about the action. She stood relatively erect her arms draped in front of her, hands claspede lightly.

He circled her, using his hands to reposition her posture. She felt herself tense at his touch, her mind calabrarting and engraving her new stance to memory. He stood behind her, adjusting her neck straighter, her head tipped upwards slightly.

He moved to stand in front of her and undid her hands. His face was fixed in total concentration, as he tipped her chin up slightly.

"That's about right for opera," he mused more to himself than to her. He turned to a small piano in the corner of the room; "Now to see if Madame Giry and I are correct about your potential."

She smiled at him despite the fact that he wasn't looking at her.

Madame Giry walked down one of the hallways her mind evaluating her classes for the day. All of her classes had been well executed, her students listened to her instructions with persice focus.

Her mind was deep in thought, when a sound pricked her ears; song.

Madame Giry slowed her step, the voice getting stronger. She picked up on who it was immediatly as she continued; Michelle Le'Clair'e. Erik must be teaching her; she also picked up on the tune he was making her recite; Hanible. She was decent, her accent hindered her slightly but she was doing well with the little handicap. She couldn't hear Erik, but she knew that he was one at the piano. She stopped by the door and listened in silent observation, a small smile creaping onto her delicate face.

She recalled what her life was like before Meg-she could have ha the opportunity to perform if life hadn't gifted her with Meg, her beautiful daughter. Despite how young Erik had been, he had been helpful to Madame Giry, watching over the child when she had classes, and recital. When Meg was old enough to remember faces though, she left one of her friends in charge of Meg-Erik would become a liability if anyone recognized his face from the cold case file on the dead gypsy.

Michelle would become a liabilty if she and Erik ever had a fallout, she thought.

Her thought was silenced when the song ended, and he began to respond to her song.

"Excellent," she heard him pause, then continue by pointing out her flaws-mostly posture, and articulation of certain words or notes. Michelle didn't protest. Her answers were positive, as she reset herself to fit what he told her.

Madame Giry continued down the hall to her office, as Erik began a new tune for Michelle.

Alyssa Carlotta strolled down to the dormatory beeming with radiance; she had been chosen amongst a handful to try out for leading sopranna. She was going to write her father to attend her try-out, and on top of that she was engaged to the future leading sopranno Daniel Donacceli.

Power was in her grasp; she would influence the world of her greatness.

She heard a voice then that sent a shiver down her spine; Michelle Le'Clair'e.

She was singing one of the finest leading roles in sopranna history as Hanible's queen.

She paled. _This cannot be happening._

She stopped by the door, and listened as Michelle hit one of the longest held notes in the piece in the finale.

_That mutt mix of an accent is going to lose her the title as leading sopranna._ Carlotta thought, and listened for a while until she heard the music end. She couldn't bear the thought of listening to her instructor congratuate her. Not when she-Carlotta was so near to the prize.

_I will be the leading sopranna, whether or not the blasted opera ghost thinks I am worthy._ She would write her father asking for him to donate a very charitable contribution to the opera house that would force them to give her the title as a way of thanking her father.

_They must!_

She was not quite out of earshot when she heard Michelle's pianist play once again, and she made her feet move faster to get her out of the recital wing.

Michelle stayed up late after her recital practice with Erik, and sat on her bed staring at the photograph of her family listening to see if the photograph spoke to her. For Michelle they never did, but she could feel them in her heart telling her to be all she could be. They never told her though how to feel about Erik, which bothered her. She had seen so much and done so many things that even Erik's flawed face was innocent in compare.

Herriott had only been the beginig. Michelle had also seen her share of punishmepunint by the sharp end of a whip-it was an accident, but she was young then-twelve to be exact. Herriott had made a mistake, and Michelle got in the way when her master tried to punish Herriott. The master of Herriott whipped both of them. When Michelle returned home to her father, he punished Herriott's master by buying the servant girl, and making certain that she would never be harmed again. As for what the man had done to Michelle's back, he had broken the man's nose when the master called the child innsolent for not knowing what was customary in society.

Michelle returned the photgraph back to it's place on her small dresser chest, next to Herriott's yellow rose, and sat for a long while in silence, watching other girls prepare for bed.

Carlotta entered the dormatory, and threw her a dark look.

Michelle flinched, "What?"

"You cannot take my place in this opera house, Mitch. You have no talent with that Russian-Irish accent. It'll ruin you."

"I have no intent to steal anything,"

"You're lying!" Carlotta shouted, "I heard you sing today in the recital hall."

Fylise snapped back, "It's best that you have competition, Carlotta. You can't have everything."

"I can too-My daddy is going to help me!"

"You just sent the request in today. Hopefully for your sake, your daddy will be broke by the time he gets the letter."

"Have you no heart Fylise?"

"I have a heart, Alyssa. I won't tolorate your selfish one though."

Carlotta looked at Fylise then back to Michelle, "You may be old enough to participate, but I am the eldest-I get priority."

Michelle shrugged, knowing not to say a word.

"What, no come back? How dare you ignore me!"

"I have nothing to say."

"You insolent child." Carlotta hissed, "It would not be fair if you stared opposite my fiance."

"Fiance?" Fylise asked coldly.

"Yes-I am engaged to Daniel Donacceli."

"I doubt that," remarked Meg, who sat beside Christine whispering back and forth like small sparrows.

"Actually it's believable," Fylise answered Meg.

"At least we agree on something," Carlotta pouted, watching Michelle, "So who is your teacher?"

Michelle got up and walked out of the dormatory to clear her head; all this arguing was not what she wanted to listen to tonight.

She walked the empty coridoors were her friend as she walked past golden pillars and frozen faces. Somehow they all screamed at her the term 'failure'. Two things that happened her in one day had clashed against her and she didn't know which one she favored; the good or the bad?

Recital practice with Erik was everything she had dreamed of, but Carlotta was so cold and demoralizing it was easy to forget that for two hours her life was climatically perfect. Michelle felt the cold marble floor underneath her touch her through her ballet shoes. She could hear the night swallow shadows, and consume the light, making the theatre dark.

_I should be in bed,_ she thought, but she kept moving, her thoughts trying to figure out what the worst thing that could happen to her here in the opera house. Get locked out was nothing-she had lived, but perhaps she wouldn't be so lucky next time.

Could Carlotta hurt her? She toyed with the question. She doubted that Alyssa herself could hurt Michelle but she seemed to think she had friends and family in high places. Would Erik aid her if she was stuck in some situation that she couldn't get out of on her own?

Michelle reached a dead end after a while and decided finally to return to her bed chambers, not a dime wiser about her future, but at least confident that would have people to support her in the years to come here while she lived in the opera house.


	4. Chapter 4

Michelle walked out into the main theater, where the auditions were to take place. Her mind was a blur with pointed thoughts of what would ensue today. She had been practicing with Erik every night since she was informed by Madame Giry that she and Carlotta would be against one another. She couldn't fail Erik-she wanted to win this competition as a way to pay Erik back for all his work.

Her final practice the night before had proven to her that this was something she wanted to do, when she rose to their final rehersal. Erik had whittled down her accent in song to the point where it was barely noticeable, and her posture was not altered.

The try out song was for Hannible, but the winner would be in for the long haul to learn the piece written by Mozart in honour of his life titled; The Marriage of Figuro. Erik was unfamiliar with this piece but was willing to help her.

_"It won't be easy,"_

_"None of these are," she answered toying with a lock of hair as they sat out in one of the practice theatres. _

_He glanced at her, "Swan Lake will be easy for you,"_

_"Why?" she hadn't glanced it over._

_"It's written in Russian."_

_She glanced at it, "Jus think of how Carlotta would sound trying to do Russian," her tone was humorous, so Erik would catch it as a joke-which he did._

_"Tomorrow, you will succeed. No amount of money can pawn Carlotta her way into the top spot once they have heard your voice." he said, "I made you perfect,"_

_"You did," Michelle agreed, "Will you help me still when I do?" _

_"Always,"_

_She smiled._

_"Come, this is our last night, I want to make it special," he said rising, and taking her hand._

_"Where shall we go?" _

_"Out," he said shortly, with a hint of nervousness, "I want to see the city, and I would like to do this with you."_

_"And if we get locked out?"_

_"Then we get a hotel,"_

_She bit her tongue, "Very well," She rose her hand still in his, and walked out of the theatre and through the front doors to the opera house._

_It was snowing, flakes landed on them as soon as they stepped out, the sound of the night life seemed to drown out the coldness, distracting them from the bitter kisses of the snow. Michelle followed as Erik lead, his mask blended him into the snow. Mardi Gras was soon upon them so wearing a mask was not so inconspicuous. _

_Music could be heard through the walls of various buildings, and various street players on the corners of certain blocks. The tunes were mostly traditional, some even were slow. The sound of the night made Michelle smile-it was something she hadn't considered listening to since her father had died, and for once, she didn't want this new experience to end. _

_Erik looked pleased. The world seemed not to notice him, and for Michelle this was nice. This beautiful man had chosen her to accompany him into this night. She couldn't read his thoughts but felt him slip his arm around her waist when he let her hand go. she mimiked his gesture, feeling the warmth from his body radiate out from under his coat._

_They didn't need to speak, and they didn't enter any building or do anything in particular beyond just walking. For some reason it just felt right. _

_A violinist on the corner caught Erik's attention, by the slow melody he played. They paused, listening to his well tuned ear until the song was over. _

_"Do you have a full time occupation?" Erik asked the violin player._

_"No, sir. Just play for handouts," _

_Erik handed him a small handful of change, "Drop by the Opera Popular and ask for Madame Giry. Tell her Erik sent you," _

_The man looked at the change, and back to Erik as if he was speaking to God, "But I," he stuttered, "I don't know what to say," _

_"You need not say anything, ser."_

_"But how do I repay such a kindness?"_

_"Continue to play well once employed, and perhaps you can play one tune here for my lady."_

_"Oh but of course," the man placed the bow to string, and released what sounded like an original be released from his violin that played in a basic three step progression. _

_But rather than just stand a listen, Erik turned to face Michelle._

_"May I have this dance?"_

_She blinked, but her mind registered faster than her tongue and she raised her hands, and let him take her into a sort of waltz right there on the corner of the street. Her footsteps matched his, their eyes locked onto one another like they had been the first night they had met. _

_As their last night began to end before her big day, he returned her to her dormatory, gently kissing her cheek._

_"Thank you, Michelle."_

_"Thank you, Erik."_

That had been one of the most beautiful nights she had experienced in a very long while and it made no matter to her if anyone saw their one moment of bliss.

For Michelle as she stood behind the stage warming up before her initial recital, that could make or break this bond between them, she stared into the mirror before her. In the mirror was a orange-red haired woman, with bright green eyes, and pale skin, dressed as if she belonged to the theatre. Her dress had a forest green skirt, and a brown bodice, with red arm accents made of silk. Michelle had borrowed it out from one of the senior girls whom she had begun to make friends with, ensuring the girl that the dress would be returned to her as soon as the auditions were over. The girl Fylise had simply told her to win the auditions, and she would care what manner the dress returned to her in. But for Michelle, she would return it to her with every respect one should give to her senior.

Carlotta was on the stage ending the audition piece, as the small crowd of judges had assembled along with the rest of the staff and students of the theatre. Michelle didn't know if Erik would be there but she would sing just as she always had before when it was just her and Erik in the practice room.

She heard the crowd applaud, and then she heard the judges begin to speak back and forth, then tell Carlotta to wait in backstage and to send Michelle out front for her chance.

There was a lot of quiet talk back and forth as Carlotta came back stage, and stood beside her for a momnet, pale and not cold like she usually was.

"Good luck-the judges are real sticklers."

Michelle nodded, then turned to face the stage, her footsteps light as she went front and center, her mind whirling in all the instructions that Erik told her to remember when standing out in front of an audience.

The conductor instructed, "The finale from Hannible, madamoiselle. The queen's lines if you would, on my signal."

She nodded, barely seeing the crowd her mind focus souly on the song, and the practice room.


	5. Chapter 5

Erik watched the auditions from a perch high above everyone that not even Joseph Fukay would dare go. The accoustics at such a height were not too distracting, but from here he could see his his first pupil-his first masterpiece become the new leading sopranna. She did everything that he had told her to do. He was torn; Michelle was everything he had molded into a opera singer, and she was willing-eager to let him continue to teach her.

He couldn't have fathomed this in his life, once a show piece for a circus, he was now a proficient musician, and a conductor.

And Michelle was a willing learner.

Michelle . . .

He didn't know what to think of Michelle beyond their work relationship. She was his closest friend besides Madame Giry. She could look at him beyond the scars, and beyond his dark past. She wasn't afraid, and she loved him.

He knew that last part was true despite the fact that she hadn't said anything. Was she afraid she'd scare him with her emotions?

He ignored that thought, smiling as Michelle ended the song as he had told her to, holding the note long with power, until the conductor signaled the music to end. The crowd applauded, and she was excused from the stage to the back to wait while the judges debated.

Erik watched with intensity, praying that Michelle would be selected.

He heard a voice though that put a lump in his throat.

"If my daughter is not selected then I shall refuse to continue being your patron."

"Patron's can be replaced." someone answered.

"Alyssa Carlotta was the best," the first voice said eagerly.

Erik couldn't see who had begun this commotion, but he held his breath as Madame Giry's voice answered, "This was an audition, Misseur Carlotta. I shall be the judge of who becomes the next sopranna."

"Be warned, I shall pay a lovely donation if you let her become the next sopranna, and you will regret the day you chose that orphan as the sopranna."

"We shall take your statement under advisement," she answered crisply.

Erik shifted his weight and glanced over a different beam so he could see this father of Alyssa Carlotta, but by the time he could look down into the crowd, the man was gone, and all that remained were the judges.

_Curse this so called patron,_ he thought, slipping out from his ledge to do something more important with himself, while he awaited the results.

Michelle paused at the mirror as she walked away from the stage. She could hear people back out in the theatre debating, and arguing. She was certain that most of it came from issues regarding funding, but she prayed that they would look beyond the funds. There were people who would pay where the Carlotta people didn't.

Meg and Christine bounded up to her breaking her train of thought, "Michelle! You did so well!"

"Thanks," she answered them, letting her exhillaration show, her smile blooming.

"Who has been teaching you?" Christine asked.

"One of the tutors here in the opera houses," she answered, recalling that she called Erik her angel of music.

"We have to meet him," she responded without missing a beat."

"Oh one day you will,"

"One day? Why not today?"

"Because he's not in," she answered simply her mind hoping that this person would leave the subject be. She would meet Erik soon enough.

"Okay,"

Michelle headed towards the dormatory, "I need to get out of Fylise's dress. I will join you two in the dining commons later."

Meg embraced her, and both her and Christine vanished.

Upon entering the dormatory, she unlaced the dress on her own, down to a thin slip that she had on underneath, and set the dress on Fylise's bed, unsure where the girl wanted it to go. She turned to her bed and bent over to open the chest that held her own clothing, and chose a simple dress that she could easily lace up on her own.

From behind her she could hear the sound of other women coming, and she vanished into the powder room so she could have privacy. She just didn't want to see anyone after her recital-especially while putting on a dress.

When the laces were tied, she stepped out, and reentered the dormatory, her bare feet padding against the tile. Fylise was rehanging the dress she had loaned out, and turned to see Michelle.

"You gave Alyssa a run for her money."

"Or a run for her father's money," Michelle answered.

"That too," she admitted, "Were you nervous?"

"No," Michelle admitted, "No, I've been practicing too much to be nervous."

Fylise chuckled, "The girls have heard you out in the practice hall."

Michelle paled, "Seriously?"

"Yes," Fylise answered obliviously, "And I must say at least, that you've got talent. If you keep practicing, then hopefully if you lose today, you will replace Alyssa when her time comes. "

"I will probably be too old then,"

"So what? You have looks, and talent. Madame Giry had faith that you will be great. She admitted it when we were waiting for you to come out of your comma."

Michelle smiled, "Christine's got real talent though,"

"Christine doesn't work as hard as you for it." Fylise remarked, "It comes natural to her. You had some real challenges though that you were able to over power though. That takes real skill."

Michelle smiled, "Thanks,"

Fylise embraced Michelle, "You're welcome." she paused, "The results should be posted tomorrow. We'll go look together."

"Indeed," Michelle answered, and together they left he dormatory for the dining hall where they would join Meg and Christine.

"Madame," a door greeter knocked on the door for Madame Giry, "There's a man at the door wishing a word with you."

"Of course," Madame Giry stood straightening her skirts, and then went out to the front of the opera house where a man holding a well use violin stood nervously.

"Madame Giry?"

"I am, ser. Who might you be?"

"Rufio Salitini, madame. I was told to come here for employment."

"Who sent you?" she asked. She was unaware that they had been looking for people.

"A young man named Erik."

Erik was outside?

"He was out with a young-beautiful woman the other night while I was playing music for tips."

"'Tips'?"

"Yes,"

It was Mardi gras soon, it would be relativly safe for him to be out, she figured. She gestured for him to enter, locking the door behind him.

"I shall send you to the head conductor, soon. He's in the middle of a debate with other headmasters about the new sopranna. Erik was fortunate to find you I think. He has an ear for talent."

"I hope I live up to what he saw, madame." Rufio answered.

Madame Giry lead him to a lobby, and then returned to the heated debate she had left in order to clear her mind. The debates were tedious, and she was tiring of hearing about the patron.

It seemed clear about who would win this audition. She just hoped that there would be relief for the next time they had to do try-outs.

"Have we made up our minds gentlemen?" Madame Giry asked when she entered the conference room to silence.

"We have madame,"

"And who have we chosen?"

"Michelle!" shouted Alyssa, "Michelle? Why?" she was shouting at Madame Giry, "I did better!"

"My dear, this was a choice that was very hard for the judges, and they decided that they wanted Michelle over you because of her voice." she paused, "Besides, since there were two of you, you are her understudy."

"You will all pay for this!" Misseur Carlotta shouted at Madame Giry.

"I doubt that," Madame Giry turned and walked away, as Alyssa wept as she left them alone in the lobby.

Her next stop was to inform Michelle before they made it public.

She found Michelle in the library reading one of the old plays of William Shakespeare when she entered. Michelle closed the book and smiled at Madame Giry.

"Good afternoon, madame,"

"Greetings Michelle," Madame Giry approached Michelle, and placed her hand on op of hers, "I have some very important news for you,"

"Okay," she looked slightly nervous.

"Michelle, you've been chosen to be the new leading sopranna. Alyssa shall be your understudy."

Michelle paled first to a near white complexion that would qualify for sick, then she began to smile widely.

"Madme Giry that's wonderful,"

"Yes, I thought you might want to know, and share it with Erik this evening."

"Of course,"

"I will be making it public tonight in the dining commons where everyone will hear it clearly, if they didn't hear it from Carlotta."

"How did her father take it?"

"Don't you worry about that. If something happens, I will take care of it."

"Very well," Michelle answered, then did something that the Madame wasn't expecting; she hugged her.

"You're welcome," she muttered, answering the girl's gesture kindly, and as they pulled away, she added, "And thank you for sending Rufio the violinist to us. He has been well accepted by the conductor and the other musicians."

"Of course-I shall let Erik know tonight."

"Do," Madame Giry answered.

Michelle watched Madame Giry leave the library, her thoughts now reflecting on this great position she had earned. She couldn't concentrate on the book, so she set it back in it's rightful place on the shelf, and left, to walk the excitement out.

Despite her excitement, she was suddenly afraid-dreadfully afraid; the father of Alyssa was intimidating. In fact he scared her more than any wrath or fit Erik could ever conjure up. She returned to her dormatory and sat on her matress, paced up and down the women's wing of the dormatory, and even whispered silent prayers of thanks to her family, Madame Giry, Fylise and most of all to Erik. She didn't care if she was heard, but no one did. No one was listening.

She was still pacing when dinner was called, and she went to the dining hall slowly her mind buzzing.

The hall was full of people, and she slipped up next to Fylise and Meg.

"Good evening,"

"Hey-are you ready to find out who won?" Meg asked.

"Yes," she answered, "Yes I am very excited."

Christine looked at her with an odd expression.

"What?"

"Carlotta said she's going to get even."

"Pah," Fylise remarked, "She had nothing-Michelle had all the talent. You heard her practice."

"Oh we did," Meg agreed.

The room fell silent as Madame Giry entered and went to the head of the hall where the manager waited for her.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he called out, and the room went silent, "Today we had an audition of serious proportions, and despite the lack of contestants, we still had one of the most heated debates of our career before us. We were asked to select a new leading sopranna, and despite the controversial responces we have heard, we did finally come to a decision."

Meg leaned up to Michelle, "He's stalling,"

"I know," she answered quickly and quietly.

"Our new leading sopranna is madamoiselle Michelle Le'Clair'e, and due to a lack of participants, we are going to make Carlotta Michelle's understudy for all acts." he paused as applauding began to fill the room, bouncing off the walls and echoing throughout the dining commons. The manager raised his hand to silence everyone again, "This has also put us all in a little pickle," he continued once everyone had calmed down, "Because of this decision, we are also in need of a new patron. Anyone who has any connections might want to send out some messages."

Michelle's ears buzzed with excitement as people shook her hand, or embraced her in congratulations after dinner had been served an taken away so everyone could go to bed. Despite everyone's excitement, there was only one person she hoped to impress; Erik.

"Michelle,"

Michelle turned to see Alyssa Carlotta race up to her in a quick pace.

"Yes?"

"There's someone for you at the door-out next to the lobby,"

"Is there?" she asked, usure if she desired to trust Alyssa.

"Yeah-some woman by the name of Herriott."

Michelle's heart hit her ears, as excitment to see her old friend again hit her like a wreaking ball.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah,"

Suddenly her heart was torn; see her best friend, or the one she loved. Each one held her love, but her heart told her Erik would understand.

She went to the lobby.


	6. Chapter 6

Madame Giry had finished locking up her office, when she heard footsteps behind her. She placed the key to her office in her pocket, and turned to face the person headed towards her.

"Anne,"

"Erik," Madame Giry responded with some shock to his presence, "What are you doing here? I thought you would be out celebrating with Michelle." But as she had heard herself say the words, she also heard a different voice in her mind speak;

_"You will pay if you choose that orphan,"_

"No-Michelle wasn't in the dormatory. She always waited up for my presence."

"She was supposed to be there-I had thought you would want to know her grand news?"

"What news?" Erik asked, clearly trying not to get worried.

"She was selected as leading sopranna."

"She was?" a faint smile growing on his face under the mask."

"Yes," Madame Giry began to wonder where Michelle had vanished. Erik's expression said that he was thinking the same thought.

"When did you last see her?"

"In the dinning commons-she had taken off with the other girls for bed," Madame Giry recalled the Carlotta had entered the commons after everyone had left, asking where Michelle was. She seemed eager to speak to her.

"Erik, I will find her, and then I will bring her to you,"

"Of course," she wasn't helping his nerves, but Carlotta was the one she needed to see. Michelle could be in grave danger.

Madame Giry watched him leave, then went to the girls dormatory, and went to Carlotta.

"Alyssa-Alyssa wake up."

She awoke, her eyes wide in terror when she saw Madame Giry.

_A guilty face-what does she know?_

"Alyssa, where is Michelle? I would like to talk to her,"

"She's not here," Carlotta answered calmly.

"And you were the last person who waws seen with her-or at least who spoke to her. What happened?"

Alyssa's face was blank in expression, "She left. Through the front door. Her friend Herriott was out there."

_Herriott? I hadn't sent for her._

"Herriott?"

"Yes,"

"Did you see her?"

"Yeah,"

"What did she look like?" Madame Giry knew what she looked like, but expected that there was foul play and she expected Carlotta couldn't answer this question correctly.

"Not very well dressed, mangled, and scared. What do you want me to say? My daddy ambushed her with my help? Please, I am not that stupid-I was not involved."

_Contrary, to what I thought, but Carlotta lied on her last statement on not being involved. _

"Not involved?"

Carlotta clearly knew that Madame Giry had caught her lie.

"No," she tried again.

"Carlotta, what happened to Michelle?" her voice was stern, and she had awoken the other girls by having this inquisition with Carlotta.

"Mom?" Meg questioned.

"Michelle is not coming back. Her and her little scared friend are as good as dead." Carlotta answered, "My dad said that I was supposed to be the leading sopranna and that he would help me by removing the competition."

"Alyssa!" Fylise screamed, "How could you let him?"

"It wasn't my fault," she lied.

"Where did he go?" Madame Giry asked brining Carlotta's attention back to her.

"Away-I don't know where. He told me not to worry about it."

Madame Giry left the dormatory, headed to the lobby. Fylise followed her.

"Madame, what can I do to help? Michelle was my friend, as she was to Meg and Christine."

Madame Giry turned to face her, "Find Joseph Fukay. Have him meet me in the lobby."

She nodded and vanished down a different corridoor.

Madame giry didn't have to wait long as Fylise returned to the lobby. Joseph Fukay entered the lobby following Fylise his eyes were red, clearly from having just been woken up.

"What?"

"My-the leading sopranna has been kidnapped, Joseph." Madame Giry informed him.

He blinked, unamused by the news, "What do you want me to do? I am not the police."

"Then go get them. I want Michelle back," Madame Giry snapped.

"Look, we'll call the authorities in the morning. It would prove useless to do anything about it tonight."

She slapped him, "Would you tell me the same damn thing if it was Meg?"

He blinked again now fully awake from being slapped, and staggered a step back.

"You bet I would tell you to wait until dawn." he paused, "I know she was like a daughter to you-like Christine is, but you cannot do anything when it's dark out. We don't even know which way they went."

Fylise sat on a bench shocked by how blunt he was, and Madame Giry was forced to do the same action, her head in her hands. The child had become one of hers, and it hurt to think about this.

_What am I going to tell Erik?_

_Michelle what have we done to you?_

She was blaming herself suddenly. Perhaps if she had forbid Erik's affections this wouldn't have happened. But Erik hadn't acted this way with anyone other than Christine.

Christine had no idea about his affections like Michelle was capable of feeling, and had expressed.

_Have they ever told one another that they were in love with one another? _

This was going to be a very long night, Madame Giry finally concluded as a tear rolled down her cheek.

Joseph Fukay broke her fears with a trembling voice;

"Madame Giry-you need to see this,"

He was staring at the front door to the opera house where a young woman was hanging from a noose set above the door.

Madame Giry paled, as Herriott swayed with the light breeze that was outside.

_No . . ._

Michelle awoke again from another black-out. She had fainted once when they hung Herriott, and again when they had beaten her. She had no odea where she was, and was confused by how this had happened so fast. How long had they been plotting her kidnapping? How did they find Michelle?

She shifted so she could sit up. It was a clumbsy maneuver with her hands tied behind her back, but with all of her other pains, the position was the best she could do. There was no one near her in the carriage. Everyone was outside the transport, either hanging from the side, driving, or on horseback.

Where where they taking her?

She glanced out the window. They were still in Paris. She could see the eifel tower.

Did anyone know she was missing?

Erik . . .

She should have listened to love over Carlotta's damn word. She would have had a beautiful night, and she might have found the courage to perhaps admit her feelings to Erik.

Now she might not be able to.

Erik returned to Madame Giry's office around four that morning. She should have found Michelle by now.

He knocked gently, "Anne?"

The madame opened the door and looked up at him, her eyes wet with tears.

"Anne,"

"Erik, she's been kidnapped." she stepped aside so he could enter her office.

He paled, as he entered, "Where are the authorities?"

"Joseph said that they couldn't do anything until there was daylight."

"But any sign of their trail will be gone!"

"I know,"

Erik's mind whirled with a mix of love, hate, grief, despair, anger, and prayer. How could someone take his songbird away?

_Michelle . . . what have they done to you? _

"I will go out tonight,"

"Erik, no. I know how much she means to you, but you cannot do this."

"Why not?"

She tapped a small postcard that she had tacked to the wall of a small carnival-the one she had rescued him from.

He dropped his head in defeat. Despite going out at night with Michelle, this rescue was more of a risk, despite the murder being over a decade ago.

"You win Anne," he paused, raising his head, "What can I do?"

She stared him in the eye, "Pray, Erik. I don't know if Michelle will still be alive when-if we find her."

"Don't say that," his voice blurted before he could think it through thuroughly, "She won't die-she cannot die."

Madame Giry took his hands complete expression of empathy on her face, "I hope you're right. Joseph and I will send for the authorities at daybreak, and we will try to track them-at least as best as we can. Her friend Herriott is dead-hung just above the front doors."

Erik remembered Michelle talking about Herriott, beyond that first night when Michelle dared to remove his mask. He recalled that she told him about the adventures they had, and the well deserved home she was living in while aiding Michelle's father. He recalled even the trouble in her voice when she described the night that they had brought Herriott home. There was some part of the story missing, when she had told it, but Erik wasn't sure what it had been.

"You should try to rest, Erik. I will send you word if we find anything."

He nodded and went to the door, his heart felt like it had already broken, but he did his beat to ignore it and not to let it show. Despite his longing for Christine, Michelle was the only one who knew what lay under the mask and was never offended.

_Hang on my little songbird, help is coming._


	7. Chapter 7

Meg sat on the windows sill watching as her mother and Joseph Fukay rode out the following morning after Michelle's unexpected disappearence. She wasn't sure what to think, but knew what the outcome spelled for the opera house; Carlotta was now the leading sopranna.

Christine sat beside her, "Madame Giry will come back, Meg."

"That's not my consern so much, Christine. Mother said that the opera ghost approved of Michelle,"

"How does she know?"

"It talks to her apparently. Ghosts are picky-I hope I meet a ghost one day."

"Why?"

"Think about it Christine," Meg's mind forgot about Michelle for a moment, "If there really is an opera ghost, then think of all the stories and sights he-or she got to see!"

Christine smiled, "And it's an evil opera ghost."

"Please, mother would never talk to a bad ghost."

"So does Michelle know about the ghost?"

"I don't know," Meg admitted, but she was aware that Michelle had been happy for several months now, "She probably does,"

"What do you think it will do if she dies out there?"

"I don't know, but I do know that Alyssa is in for some serious hell to pay, if Michelle is hurt in any way."

"Well, she'll have to pay for Herriott-that scared woman." the last part came out with some disgust.

"Christine, the scars don't make the person; the actions make a person who they are."

"But a not a ghost,"

"Ghosts were once people."

Christine looked at Michelle, and then got up, "I am going to pray for my father."

The chariot came to a halt just outside of town near a graveyard. It was barely dawn, and there was not enough light for her to see with until the lanterns were lit. Misseur Carlotta came around the transport, and pulled her out of the carriage. She didn't know why she was afraid; he wasn't as mallice as Herriott's former master, but he certainly was getting close to it. He had beaten and cut Michelle enough to make her faint-perhaps into a concussion several times, only to be awoken again to be hauled out to wherever they were going.

But now he undid her bindings so she could walk.

"You should have denied yourself the right to audition," he growled, "I do this so my daughter can have all her dreams come true,"

"What are you going to do?" her voice squeeked out nervously. She was tired of being beaten for whatever crime it was to sing.

"Make sure you're never found," he answered, gesturing out to the graveyard.

Michelle paled, and jerked about suddenly, fear engulfing her thoughts, making her suddenly try to escape.

"Too late for that," he snapped, his grip on her arm firm as he hauled her out into the cemetary.

Michelle looked about feverently seeking some sign of escape. Where would she go? There were six men, and only one of her. She could run back into the town, but they would find her again quickly. She couldn't run home because Herriott was dead, and worst of all, Erik-her only true friend would have no idea where to look for her.

She had to fend for herself.

She watched as they went deep into the cemetary. The various large statues and monuments could hide her if she could get free of his iron grip. All she had to do was wait for his grip to weaken for the briefest moment, she thought, and then she could make a run for it.

They reached a spot in the cemetary where the coffins were above ground, and he signaled for the men to choose a coffin quickly, so they could dispose of their prisoner and head back into town for drinks.

Michelle paniced and shot her foot out at her captor's knee making the knee cap release a sickening sound. Missuer Carlotta dropped onto the ground, his grip released from Michelle to cradle his knee, cursing as he was unable to stand up properly.

"You bitch!"

Michelle turned and ran for the closest hideaway that would lead to another hide-out. She could hear the men on her trail not far behind her, and she tried to push herself faster, blinded with fear.

She didn't realize that she tripped on a tombstone until she had hit the dirt and snow with her full weight on her wrists. She gasped from the shock of falling, not from hitting her wrists, but felt the intial sense of doom, when two men came up to her on either side snatching her arms and bringing her back to the misseur.

"I knew orphans were nothing but trouble." he growled, releasing a deadly fist make contact with her face, causing her ears to ring.

"Put her in the coffin, and let's go home."

The lid was already open, and she cried out as her hands and feet were bound, then lowered into the coffin, the lid sliding shut over her protests.

"There's nothing we can do besides bury the dead on this case," the officer informed Madame Giry as she ended the retelling of what had happened the night before, "You don't even know if the captor is Misseur Carlotta."

"I know it was, officer. Carlotta admitted it herself in front of the rest of my students. "

"We shall go out and talk to the Misseur later today, madame. He is burying his mother today."

"Where?"

"Why?"

Joseph Fukay answered before Madame Giry could, "Do you know that it was the mother he was burying?"

"Of course, I saw the corpse myself."

"What did it look like?"

"The woman you found hanging at your opera house."

"That's not his mother," Madame Giry snapped loudly at the officer, "That was Michelle's oldest friend Herriott!"

The oblivious cop paled, "I didn't know,"

"Where were they burying this so-called mother?"

"Heraldsi Cemetary on the north west end of town."

"We must leave now," Madame Giry told Joseph, "Michelle needs us."

They turned forgetting about the officer, and heading to their horses. In Madame Giry's mind, she blamed herself for encouraging Michelle to try out, and forcing Erik to teach her how to sing properly. Perhaps Michelle would be alright, if she had ended this friendship long ago.

Perhaps things would have been better if she had left Erik to his fate that night in the carnival.

She shook her head to clear her mind, and once mounted onto her horse, she gave her horse it's command for speed, and they raced north.

The ride was long, and it tired the horses as they reached the upper end of Paris.

"Madame?" Joseph asked as they crossed the town's edge.

"Yes?"

"Say we get to the cemetary, what then? What are we going to do exactally? It's not like there's only one place to hide a captive out there."

Madame Giry edged her horse to a stop realizing that he was right. How would they find Michelle?

"Go back to the opera house and find help," she answered, "I am going to rise on and start looking."

"What if Misseur Carlotta and his men are still there?"

"I will hide," she answered simply, "Please go-there's a lot of tombs to search through, and not much time if we keep stalling."

He nodded whirlling his horse around and racing off to the opera house. Madame Giry watched him for a minute, then when he was out of view, turned her horse to the cemetary.

The snow was falling harder now, but it was obvious that someone had been there earlier in the day. Judging by the snowfall, and the lack of freshness in the footprints, perhaps no less than twelve hours. She followed the footsteps cautiously.

She hoped she wasn't too late.

The footsteps ended in the far end of the graveyard where the coffins were raised above ground. Her brow rose with consern; there were way too many to fuss with, and the footsteps were indeterminite as to where they were last before heading back.

Madame Giry had to find her.

_For Erik's sake_, she concluded_-and mine._

Then she noticed how late it was begining to get.

Erik sat on a beam inside the church wing of the opera house, contemplating wheher or not there was such thing as a god. He convinced himself that if there was, he would bring Michelle back to him alive and safe. There was no god if she would never return to his side; they had things planned-she was going to help him write his opera.

_I should have gone out with Anne,_ he cursed his sincerity to listening to her orders.

He sat there, twirling a white rose in one hand thinking about this pain that had enraptured him when he heard a door open.

He shifted on the beam so he wouldn't be seen, and looked down to see a small child enter-a very young teenager, he guessed judging by her shape. The child stopped before the candles and lit one for a man; Misseur Daae.

Christine.

"Father," she whispered, "I have come for you to hear my prayers, and heed my needs. I miss you. You promised me an angel of music. I used to hear him, but it betrayed me for Michelle. She is the new leading sopranna-well Carlotta is now. Neither one should hang onto the title long-I will be old enough to audition. I will prove to this angel that with or with out it's help I can be great. You made me that way." she paused, "Don't let Michelle come back father; I'll have less competition that way."

Erik's heart sank, as he watched her speak normal prayers then to her father, and even sing to him. She had a great voice, and was beautiful. But how could she be so cold? He swallowed quietly, deciding that he would have to make things right for this child. Then he heard her say something else that startled him;

"Oh father, I miss Raoul and the adventure the three of us had."

He closed his eyes for a moment, silencing all of his impulsive thoughts, concentrating on how to make her see the light in Michelle.

But how? He wouldn't leave Michelle high and dry, but Christine needed to see that Michelle wasn't bad.

He dropped the rose, letting it fall to the floor, and slipped up through a trapdoor, not looking back.


	8. Chapter 8

Joseph Fukay returned some hours later, with several men and a bunch of lanterns.

"Any luck Anne?"

She would never let him call her that on any day, but for this sort of situation that had never been anticipated, she let it slide.

"No, I keep getting lost out here. I found blood in various places, like there was a struggle."

"Any sign that Michelle was alive?"

"Yes," Madame Giry had been able to see that much, "She tried to run once but tripped. They brought her back here, and then the trail runs cold."

"Well there are seven raised coffins here," Joseph looked about, picking at the snow, examining for any traces of disturbed snow, "We should start with these seven then look in some of the others."

"Yes, but which one do we start with?" one of the help asked.

Joseph didn't answer, as he studied each one carefully, then went back to the third one; "This one, labled Misseur Jacques Hans Livont."

"How can you be certain?" Madame Giry asked unconvinced.

"The edges are sealed on all the others due to the ice. This one was recently broken-because of how cold it's been, it's hard to tell how long though since the seal was broken since it's dark out."

Madame Giry nodded, and the men set to work with pry bars cracking the seal open again, and then pushing the heavy marble lid aside.

"Oh Lord," Joseph Fukay whispered under his breath.

"What?" Madame Giry asked, only to have her question answered by peeking inside the coffin.

It was well past midnight when Erik heard the first sign of Madame Giry's return. The doors were opened, as she instructed Joseph Fukay a medic. Erik watched from a rafter as she carried the little songbird to the ill wing of the dormatories. Most visitors there were in for a sprung ankle or a minor cold. Judging from Madame Giry's effort to move Michelle here, meant that something bad happened. From up on the rafter, he couldn't see anything. She was unconscious, and pale. Not dead, though despite a very decayed odor that emitted from her person. His brow furrowed, and he waited until the ill wing was cleared before dropping down into the wing.

"Anne?"

She looked at him troubled, but didn't speak.

"What happened?" he came to Michelle's side taking her hand.

"Michelle was buried alive in an already occupied coffin, Erik. The odors that were in that coffin seemed to have damaged her breathing." she paused looking at Erik, "For this action-my mistake, she could die."

He was confused, "How is this your fault?"

"I let her audition. I thought she would be a perfect sopranna. Now I might have killed her."

Erik released Michelle's hand and came to Madame Giry folding her into his arms, "Anne, you are not to blame. We cannot change how other people react to the actions we take."

She didn't speak until he released her, "But if we had just given it to Carlotta, then we wouldn't have had to deal with this."

"Carlotta would have found another reason to ruin our lives. This was the first excuse for it. The Opera Popular is still patron-less, and he will not return; even with Carlotta in the lead." He returned to Michelle's side, once again taking her hand, examining the damage closer. Her fingers were raw, wrists badly bruised. He couldn't even look at Michelle's face without feeling a lump touch his throat; her face was bruised, and the bed was turning red.

He looked up at Madame Giry, "Why is the bed turning red?"

Madame Giry lifted Michelle up to a sitting position exposing deep slashes over old cuts where her back had been attacked.

"Judging by how long some of the scab bits have been there, I am guessing that these she received last night after they hung her friend Herriott. Her hands were bound behind her back-when we found her the ropes were frayed, but not cut, like she was trying to untie them on her own in the dark. Her legs were bound also-Joseph untied her, and tried to wipe off most of the decayed flesh from her coffin mate, but the odor is still here."

Erik's ears picked up the sound of Joseph returning.

"I'll be back in awhile to check on her," he remarked releasing Michelle once again reluctantly and vanishing through the closest window.

The medic followed closely behind Joseph Fukay, as they entered the medical wing.

"Madame Giry, this is Luis Hawthorne-medical practitioner."

Madame Giry gave him a weary look, "This is Michelle," she gestured, "Please help us heal her misseur Hawthorne. You will be paid whatever you feel is appropriate. We will also provide you with whatever supplies you require."

"Of course, thank you kindly." the doctor came close examining the patient, "I don't work miracles, Madame but I am going to need fresh sheets, bandages, hot water, thread and a needle." he paused, "Access to fire also, I may have to burn the open wounds into coterization."

"That's barbaric for a woman," Madame Giry protested.

"If you want the child to live, you will do as I request. If she is half the woman you think she clearly is, then she will be able to live with her scars." His voice hit a crisp note at the end forcing Madame Giry to back down.

"Of course," Madame Giry answered departing from the medical wing with Joseph. She was happy to have one of her own back in the opera house, but it was taking a toll on her.

"Anne?" Joseph asked calmly taking her arm.

"I am tired, Joseph. I haven't slept at all over the last couple of days."

"Then you should rest-I will come and get you if something comes up."

She didn't want him to take all the responcibility, but her body protested otherwise.

"Very well. I shall use the cot in my office."

He nodded, escorting her the rest of the way to her office before going back to oversee the medic and his supplies.

Erik retreated back to the chapel in the opera house, his mind lost in despair. Michelle had been returned to him, but in poor condition. He sat way up in the beams well hidden from the light, but he still talked to God.

"This was not supposed to happen," he whispered into the empty air, "She was supposed to be okay, you will do that won't you?" He removed this mask as he felt a tear fell from his eyes onto his cheek. "I was meant to love another but you gave me Michelle. Why would you do that if you only intend to take her back?" He stared at his ceramic mask's eye as if it would yield an answer. "Please don't take Michelle,"

He reflected on the old scars he had seen through the cuts on Michelle's back. What had happened to his songbird before she came here?

He swallowed, trembling as his thoughts tried to come up with an answer.

"Oh Michelle," he whispered into the empty air. This was not what he had wanted; this was a woman who stood beside him at night, spoke to him without disgust, and held his hand as if he wasn't flawed. She was beautiful, even when injured, and was compassionate.

She listened to him.

He recalled the night that they were on the rooftop staring at the night. If Joseph Fukay hadn't disturbed them, he might have given way to his reluctance and kissed her.

What had this so-called God wanted of him?

He squeezed his eyes shut, and stared into the darkness, the tears still falling.

Madame Giry sat beside Michelle the following morning, watching as a fever festered on Michelle's brow, and watched as the doctor checked his handy work from the night before. He seemed so professional about his work, but Madame Giry didn't know what to think. Michelle Le'Clair'e looked so much like the dead, that she wasn't sure if Michelle would be able to recover.

"I must rest myself," the medic remarked to her midday, "I shall return this evening, to monitor her condition."

"Of course," she nodded rising with the doctor, but sat once again when he was gone.

Would Michelle rise again? Or sing?

Erik entered the medical wing, and sat beside Madame Giry.

"Any news?"

"No, a fever seems to have set on, but her wounds are not infected. The doctor said that her body lost a lot of blood while he was closing the wounds. She is in God's hands for now."

He shook his head.

"What?"

"No god would do this to Michelle."

"But someone did, Erik." she took his hand for a brief moment, "You are still young despite all the things you have learned and accmplished in this opera house. If Michelle recovers she can teach you."

He didn't answer her remark. His eyes locked on the hand his own had been on.

"Where did the old scars on her back come from?"

"That I do not know." she paused, "Michelle will have to tell you that."

"No one deserves to be whipped,"

"No one deserves to be abused, Erik. You above all know that. She will need you when she awakens."

He nodded returning his hand to Michelle, "We were going to write an opera."

"'We'?"

"Well, I was, and she was going to help me proof-read it."

"What would it have been called?"

He shrugged, "I haven't gotten there yet."

She smiled weakly, "You two will do well." she watched as his attention refocused deeply within his own thoughts.

"What is it Erik?"

"Christine has no love for Michelle. She thinks that she stole the angel of music from her. Christine believes that if Michelle never came back that the angel would go back to her."

Madame Giry sighed, "Erik, you are a strong person, but when the time comes, you can only have things one way. I think Michelle is willing to understand that. She will support you however you need."

"You think?"

Madame Giry nodded, "Yes. And don't you worry about what Christine thinks. She isn't quite old enough to understand yet."

Michelle was returned to the women's dormatory after a week of solitude. She awoke into the darkness, gasping as if she was still stuck in the coffin. But the air was clean here in this darkness-and comfortable. She fumbled about her mind registering that it was the dormatory again. She rolled and fumbled about for a match and lit a candle that was on her nightstand.

The dormatory was silent, and the shadows were still. No one was there-at least awake. Her body ached, and her fingers ran over the stitches on her back, her fingers were still healing from fighting the coffin lid and her bindings, butshe could still feel everything.

How did she get home?

The door opened and Madame Giry entered.

"Michelle?" she whispered.

"Yes,"

Madame Giry's sigh of relief was enough to tell her that she had been close to death.

"Thank goodness," she sighed, coming to Michelle's side and holding her hands, "You look better."

"I feel like I have been run through a cheese grator," Michelle answered with a small grin.

"Of course. The doctor said that the carbon from the dead body and your breathing should have killed you by the time we found you."

"'We?"

"Joseph Fukay and I went out for you."

She nodded, smiling faintly.

"I am so sorry Michelle. I didn't think the Carlottas would be so abrupt in hurting you."

"It's to be expected," Michelle answered.

"What do you mean?"

"I cannot please everyone, Madame. I can only do so much. I am not a full adult yet."

"I know," she answered and paused, "If it makes you feel any better, the staff will be here to support you however we can."

"Thank you," she paused remembering Erik, "Where is Erik?"

She shrugged, "I am not sure where he is currently. He has been spending some time in the chapel though praying for your safe return." she paused, "Shall I check?"

Michelle shook her head, "No. I would like to go to the chapel though, if you would help me,"

"Of course,"

Michelle stood wobbly, but with a little support from Madame Giry, they left the dormatory and entered the hallway. Her legs were stiff but the trip would be worth it if she could enter the chapel, and thank the gods for letting her live.

The doors were open when they arrived, and they found Christine staring at the tiny portrait of her father. She smiled at Madame Giry, barely noticing Michelle at first, then she rose to take her hands.

"You're alive," she said with the sound of relief on her tongue, but not in her eyes.

"Barely," Michelle answered drawing her hands back from Michelle, "If you don't mind I wanted to pray thanks for my life."

"Of course,"

Michelle moved to the windowsill with a beautiful stained glass window, and stared up at the cross, above the candle, she folded her hands, and in her mind prayed.

_Dear Lord, thank you for this gift of life. You probably had every opportunity for me to be done and gone, but it's obvious that you have a reason for me to stay here. I am not sure what yet, but I do know one thing I need to do before I advance further in this life. With your blessing, let me see Erik one last time, before you give me a vison of my future. Thank you for my friends here in the opera house, and please forgive the Carlottas for their sins. I wish I can forgive them, but if this is what you had in mind for me, then I will learn to live with what you did. Please bless Herriott-I miss her so much. She was my sister spiritually, and now she comes to you. Please make her feel at home, and keep her safe. Amen._

Michelle wiped a tear from her eye, as she sat on the sill. Christine left halfway through her prayer, Madame Giry escorted her back to the dormatory. She felt strange being alone, but it was a church. She couldn't be harmed here.

She heard something above her, and looked up. There was noting to see in the darkness of the chapel, but there was much to hear in the small chamber. She shifted slightly on the sill, watching the darkness, until what she heard came down from the beam.

Erik.

His eyes glittered with excitement, as he sat beside her. Michelle didn't think as she reached out and pulled him into a long awaited embrace.

"I didn't think I'd see you again," he whispered, careful not to hold her too tightly.

"Neither did I." she answered, finally pulling away.

"I missed you," his hands dropped to tenderly hold hers.

"Me too," she answered in a low volume. They sat there in silence for a moment and both started to speak to one another, only to fall silent again.

"You first," Erik said.

"No, please go ahead." she insisted.

He started to protest, but began anyway, "Michelle, this whole fiasco has made me do a lot of thinking, and it has caused me to reconsider some things." he paused, but when Michelle didn't speak continued, "Michelle, my songbird, I have been avoiding the thought due to my admiration of Christine, but after the chaos and the prospect of never having you back again, I have made up my mind about something."

"What do you mean?" she asked confused slightly.

Nothing needed to be said for the action that came next, as he leaned in close to her, and gently pressed his lips to hers.


	9. Chapter 9

It might not have been intentional, but it was meant to be at the time. Michelle and Erik's amour was moving despite the fact that his heart still thought of Christine. Madame Giry watched them for the next three years as everyone grew up into lovely adults. Meg and Christine reached eighteen faster than Madame Giry expected, but then again, she herself grew older also, fining that on occasion, she used the aid of a walking stick to do certain things. Joseph Fukay began to lose hair on the top of his head, and grew fonder of his ale. Their manager Misseur Lefevre hard as well, as Carlotta reached her prime as leading sopranna, and slowly began to decline. Madame Giry requested that she consider retirement, but Alyssane Carlotta, denied her request.

"I do not need to retire yet. I still sound good and get roses from my fans."

Christine was also getting better when it came to singing. Her natural sopranna voice made her a prime canidate to take over; young enough not the replaced quickly, beautiful, and aided by her angel of music-Erik.

Something about that bothered Madame Giry; why did Michelle put up with it. She asked the young lady one day after rehersal.

"If I love Erik, I can deal with him teaching others to sing. I cannot have that joy all to myself." she smiled with a romantic glow, that Madame Giry knew well. She hoped that Erik would realize how lucky he had it in life. What seemed to stun Madame Giry though about the relationship between Erik and Michelle was that she didn't move down into his cavernous keep. Perhaps he hadn't invited her to that yet, but she decided not to pry into that topic.

Manager Lefevre also hired a new patron as Carlotta began to decline named Count Andre deChagny-Raoul's older brother. He was a tall fellow with strong features, and a charming smile. He was quite the polite gentlemen.

But his eye was locked on Michelle.

It troubled Madame Giry because she knew Erik's temper if something went wrong. Michelle would have to deal with the dark side of Erik, she shouldn't see.

Maame Giry overheard him corner her one afternoon about having a relationship;

"Michelle, don't you know how potentially perfect you are?"

"I am not for the taking, your excellency."

"Please, it's Andre, Michelle."

"You assume too much of me, ser. I beg you to look for another match. I am not up for grabs."

"So who is your partner? I shall vanquish him."

"Please, I have no partner."

_That's right, Michelle. Erik's not just a partner._ Madame Giry mused.

"Then let me be the one to fill in the shoes."

"No, your excellency. Please, I am late for a meeting." And Michelle left.

Madame Giry listened as the young patron sighed in frustration, then left in the opposite direction.

Michelle watched as a frustrated Erik paced in his chambers debating over another failed opera because of Carlotta's continued presence.

"I cannot stand it anymore," Erik snapped.

"No?"

"No. She has no ear for song. She struts about thinking she's some godess, and it's a miracle that no one pressed charges when you were kidnapped so long ago. She shouldn't be here."

Michelle was draped over a chair reviewing a new set of notations made by the genious, for his opera, which he had titled Don Juan. His concept of timing, and notation was excellent, and how the notes went one after another in an awkward pattern made sense.

"It's not good enough," he snapped.

"It's fine," Michelle answered, taking a sip of wine, "If anything, my dear, we just have a few adjustments to make. It'll come together."

"Christine will star in it."

"Of course, as to be expected."

"Carlotta must not have the leading role,"

"If she makes the cut then it's up to the judges. Not us."

He rounded on Michelle, "Michelle, this is my opera house."

"As it is mine. This is our home, that we share with another two hundred some odd people not counting the hundreds of guests that some to visit the performances."

She knew he hated it when she was right.

"Michelle,"

"Erik," she set the pages aside, and made him stop pacing for a moment by standing in front of the small trail he was beating into the dust, "It'll all work out, just be patient as you have always been." She kissed his exposed cheek, knowing it was a good way to mellow him out.

He had begun to wear his ceramic mask more often, which at first seemed to bother Michelle for some unknown reason, but it passed, when he would at least let her remove it, to give him some affection.

"Michelle," he sighed, "I didn't consider having you in this performance you and I are writing. I was hoping to have you bow with me at curtain call as writers,"

"I know," she answered.

His brow furrowed, "Seriously?"

She nodded, "You've been working Christine to become the girl you need. I would like to believe that I may be enough for fill all your needs, but I am not as young as Christine. She is in her prime to take over the opera house. People like me don't need to shadow this new generation."

She seemed to have struck a nerve, "Michelle, I love you."

"I know," she answered, "But I also know that after everything that's happened, I shouldn't take the role as leading sopranna. I am best as an understudy." she kissed his scared cheek, "I also am a great assitant,"

"I am going to run Carlotta out of the opera house."

"How?"

"Become the Opera Ghost," he answered, "My salary has been fine, but no one listens when I request Carlotta be removed."

"But box five has been open to you also. That's a great deal to ask for."

"T'is," he answered, "But her time is over."

Madame Giry crossed a catwalk above the stage watching her dancers below as they executed another difficult maneuver. She was proud of them, as they slid across and over one another, Carlotta front and center holdng still singing and making her presence far from just obvious. She was obnoxiously obvious. The poor girl had no idea what Erik had in store-Madame Giry knew; Erik had sent her a message telling her his intentions. She knew that it would be several years, but she hoped that he wouldn't start tonight.

_Tomorrow while we are practicing_. She prayed mentally as she watched Christine and Meg leap over Michelle and one of the other dancers.

_Well done girls_.

She wondered about Michelle-her strides were off. Her footing was awkward tonight in the performance of the Snow Queen. What did Michelle know, that Madame Giry didn't? She watched silently, noticing that Erik wasn't in box five and in his place was their patron Count Andre. His eyes were very intent on the show, but for the observant eye like Madame Giry, he was watching Michelle again. The poor girl's stalker was going to make a mess soon, and she was not going to be held responcible for it, nor would she permit Erik and Michelle to be compromised.

Michelle changed back into her normal attire and shut off the lights to the girl's changing room, knowing she was the last one out, and made her way back to the dormatory. Her footsteps were light as she worked her way into the well earned celebration, but she wouldn't drink tonight. Michelle Le'Clair'e was tired, and her ankles hurt. She couldn't recall stepping strangly the last few days or twisting them in any manner, but she knew better.

She was getting too old to be doing this stuff.

Was she?

She was twenty-one. Erik twenty-six. Maybe she was too old to dance as extensively as she did, her voice still prime and she was not the one who was too old. Michelle glanced ina mirrior she walked by every night when heading to the dorms.

The dark glass held no suprises for her; everything was the same as it had been the night before. She stared at it for a while, then deciding not to look into the glass further, walked away from the mirror, her chambers near by and her exhaustion catching up.

Michelle opened the door and slipped inside. The chambers had emptied out over the last few years, as people became engaged, and married off. Meg, Christine and Fylise were still around, but they too had people sizing them up a potential amours. To them Count Andre's affections were turning into stalking when it came to him and Michelle. They knew she had a lover, but no one knew who it was, nor did she give anything away over the last few years.

Sleep took her quickly. Erik had reduced visiting her due to his new obsession of removing Alyssa from the picture, and his invisible training with Christine. Michelle though spent time with him every afternoon.

She was strong-she just hoped that she could deal with her lover's obsessions.

Raoul deChagny watched his brother pace irritably. He had returned from the most recent winter opera with no amour, and no Michelle Le'Clair'e on his arm. They looked much alike Raoul and Andre, but when it came to personality there was an obvious difference. For Raoul who had only been to the Opera Popular once, there was very little to say about Michelle. She was red haired, and lovely, but the other dancers were lovely too.

"She loves me-I can see the affection."

"She loves someone; but it clearly wasn't you."

Andre whirled to face his brother, "No one else is near her except the other women. Michelle is too pretty to be attracted to the opposite sex, and she is always slipping off into odd places."

"Perhaps she has obligations,"

"Yeah right," he paused, "Any woman on my arm has to match my beauty."

"Sure, Andre."

"You're still stuck on Christine?"

"I miss her so much."

"Look you wrote her-she never wrote back."

"It may have not reached her." he was torn up still about not seeing Michelle.

"Right," then it was obvious that to Raoul, that hs brother had a brilliant idea, "I'll help you get Christine, but you will help me get Michelle if I am successful."

Raoul rolled his eyes, "No way am I helping you win some three way triangle."

"There is no triangle!"

"Please-if she isn't giving you any love then it's been set aside for religion-ghosts or spirits."

Winter turned to spring, and soon the season for festive performances about brighter days was called for. Carlotta had been trapped multiple times into accidents and despite being unharmed, made it clear she was staying. She fought with Misseur Lefevre about management shrieking about how he had bad staff, and how she was always having trouble dealing with people.

The manager went to Madame Giry often for advice, "What do I do? No one seems to have a handle on the situation behind the curtain, and I need a break,"

"Where would you go, ser?"

"I have been thinking Australia. I have relatives there."

"Of course," she remarked, "Don't make any decisions immediatly-I will talk to Carlotta myself and try to square things out."

"That would help, Madame."

She smiled, knowing that Erik was to blame, but she couldn't help but mentally cheer him on for his efforts.

She had found the answer to Michelle's ankle issues as a simple case of shoes that were too small for her feet.

"What happened to the funds you earn working here?"

"They go in the donation box. I was going to buy more soon-maybe with the next payment."

"The donation box?"

"Yes, madame. This place is my home, I want to do all I can for it."

Madame Giry had to be pleased with Michelle's eagerness.

"Please be careful with your funds. The opera house will last even if you keep some money for yourself."

She nodded, "I will."

Madame Giry handed her a new pair of shoes, "Use these until you get a more fitting pair." she paused, "How is Erik?"

Michelle dropped her eyes.

"What?" Madame Giry asked.

"He overworks himself blindly writing sheet music for an opera all on his own. I do what I can for him, but he has a tempermental frenzy everytime I respond by pointing out things that he could do to make his music benefit him." she paused, "His trials with Carlotta are werisome also. He feels that if he can get her out and Christine in, that everything will be better."

"You don't think so?"

Michelle shook her head, "Christine won't admit it but because we are orphans, we are less liked in this place. Having her on stage will bring it's own issues. Erik is bound to be involved with some of them-how I don't know, but I just have that feeling."

Madame Giry nodded knowing she was right, and also confirming to herself that Michelle had seen a darker than necessary side of Erik by his passions alone.

"Does he still love you?"

Michelle's eyes which had raised when she explained her concerns dropped again.

"What?"

"I don't know, Madame Giry; we spend so much time together that I begin to get these mixed emotions when he speaks of people like Christine. It's like if I hadn't stopped him that one night, that perhaps she would love him too, but I haven't stopped him from anything. I let him do what he pleases, and then I find myself wondering what I could have done better."

Madame Giry took her hands, "You've done nothing wrong, Michelle. These are changing times for everyone. I will talk to Erik. " she paused, "Have you told him about Andre?"

"No," she shook her head, "He's too obsessive."

"And Erik is not?"

"But, Andre always follows me," Michelle protested, taking her hands back.

"Michelle," she put her hands back on her lap, "You may be a full adult know, but you are still young. You have every right to fear Andre, but don't set him aside if Erik isn't listening to you anymore. Don't do anything until we talk again, okay? I know deep down Erik loves you, and he wants great things in life."


	10. Chapter 10

Michelle followed Madame Giry's instructions, but she couldn't find the patience to be around Count Andre, so she did her best to avoid him. She curled up into her thoughts most of the time in the dormatory when not studying with the other girls making certain not to be around when Erik decided that it was a proper day to punish Alyssa for becoming the leading sopranna. He never hurt her seriously, just enough to send chills up everyone's spine. Many suspected Joseph Fukay, but then again, he was begining to be more interested in women affectionatly, and less like a child.

Michelle found a note one afternoon on her pillow with the infamous wax stap, and after carefully pealing the wax from the edge of the envelope, she read the letter with her full attention;

_My dearest Michelle,_

_We must talk-some news has reached my ears that I thought that you should be aware of. Make sure you come alone-yes I am well aware of that pompus count at your heels. Your loyalty to me is flattering-one of the reasons I do adore having you as my friend._

_Love,_

_Erik_

Michelle folded the letter tucking it into a pocket. She was dressed today like an english rider, pale tan trousers, boots, and a blue jacket over a white blouse. She was going to go out, for a ride, but Erik took presidence over anyone or thing-save Madame Giry. Michelle slipped through the door next to her bedchamber and through the dark hallway. She had becomed accustomed to running her fingers across the rough stone surface of the wall to depict how far she had gone, and how close she was to the overly large staircase that decended to the watery cavern below.

The exit to the hallway became apparent, and Michelle grinned when far below she could see the boat waiting for her.

She began to take the stairs her footsteps light and her thoughts bright, when she heard something behind her.

Another person.

She froze and turned to see Count Andre.

She gulped, as he came towards her.

"So this is where you go when you are out of my sight. My, how dark and sinful a place. You shouldn't be here."

"On the contrary,ser. You shouldn't be here."

He made his way to her step, and turned to face her, "Then that makes us both sinners. You ought to be more rational if your intent is to get my affections. I prefer more lighted places." He began to close the gap.

"Please leave," Michelle snapped her mind was starting to freeze.

"Leave? While you do what? Desend into darkness?" he grabbed her hand, "Let us return to the main floor, and talk like normal people."

"No; you must be the one to leave."

"Michelle,"

A voice echoed off the walls, "And who are you to stop her from where she pleases?"

"Who is out there?" Andre snapped, his grip firm on Michelle's hand.

"Why haven't you heard? This place is haunted by a ghost,"

"Please," Andre said with sarcasm, "I am not afraid. Show yourself."

Michelle took it to mean his attention was no longer focused on her and jerked her arm out of his grip, stumbling a bit, but held her own.

"Michelle?" Count Andre questioned as a dark figure dropped down from between the two.

Erik.

"I told you to come alone," he hissed over his shoulder his eyes locked on the count. His scars were hidden behind his mask, but it was obvious that the count was now unsatisfied with the opera ghost.

"I thought I did," Michelle answered.

Erik turned his attention back to the count. "Now, leave. And never return,"

Count Andre drew a blade on Erik, "Not without Michelle,"

"Michelle can do as she pleases, and she is welcome here in my domain. You are not." he answered Andre's challenge with his own sabre.

And then the duel began.

Despite Erik's obvious knowledge of the sword and the domain, Count Andre had the upper hand his sword countered everything Erik did, and more as he lunged, brushing along Erik's sword arm.

Erik barely made any responce to the cut, as he ascended the staircase, causing the count to stagger as he moved backwards.

Then the death blow came slmost sudden and quickly. The count tumbled backwards against the stairs; Erik didn't hesitate plunging his sword into the count's chest. Michelle paled, as Erik drew his blade back, and catching Andre's collar, dropped him over the side on the stairs into the water below.

Erik sheathed his blade and turned to Michelle, who wasn't sure what to think, but pushed her fears aside, recognizing his wound.

"It's nothing," he answered, gesturing for them to decend the staircase.

"At least let me bandage it for you when we reach your chambers," she insisted.

He shrugged as if it really didn't hurt. Their steps silent.

"I am sorry if killing the count offended you, Michelle." he said after a long period of silence.

"It didn't offend me-it might have been better if there was a way to reason with him, but it was clear he was in no mood for it."

He smirked, as they reached the bottom and he helped her into the boat. He grabbed the oar and padded them out to the lair.

"So what news did you have to tell me about?" Michelle asked as they walked to his desk.

"Death, Michelle; it seems to be the day for it."

"Oh?"

"Misseur Carlotta has been killed. A bar fight with some random drunks. Someone drew a knife, apparently."

"Does Alyssa know?"

"Madame Giry is supposed to be giving her the news while I send it to you."

Michelle paled, "What does this spell out for me?" she snatched some scraps of faberic, and water, and returned to his desk. Erik had taken to his intriquetly carved wooden chair. She set her things on the desk, and from behind removed his dark jacket reveling the bloodstained white tunic below.

He removed his own white shirt, revealing his shirt, revealing his bare-and well toned torso. Michelle did her best to hold her breath; this was more than she had planned to see, but it was not unwelcome. In fact she was mentally excited, but remained focused, cleaning away the blood, and wrapping the cut in the scrap farbic that she knew was clean.

"You didn't have to do this," he muttered.

Michelle was confused slightly, he was the one who removed the shirt, "I had to; you saved my well being from a stalker, and in the act was wounded. This is the least I can do."

"Speaking of that, what shall we tell our friends upstairs should they ask you?"

"I don't know,"

"Good answer," he winced as she tied the ends off, and stepped away, to sit on the dirt steps near by the desk.

"What would you want me to say?"

"The same thing you just said. Someone will come down here again on their own accord and figure it out."

"The count didn't come down here by his own accord?"

"No-he was on the prowl for you."

"He would have never gotten me."

"No?"

"Nope."

He looked amused, "And tell me, why would you not?"

This time it was Michelle's turn to smirk; "Because my heart belongs to another."

"And who would that be?"

"You,"

Madame Giry left the girl's domatory wiped out from dealing with Alyssa's tears. The girl had no idea what had happened to her father, and despite everyone's hate for their colleague they all took her side on this one, and did their best to support her.

Madame Giry knew Erik was taking charge of telling Michelle, and knew that she was still with him, since his letter was not seen on her pillow. She could only wonder how she was taking the news. Could she be cheering for the man's death?

Madame Giry couldn't understand why no one pressed charges. Michelle was way too kind to let Alyssa get away with what she did. What did Michelle plan to do? Or was it already taken out by all the stunts Erik pulled off?

For the time, Madame Giry let it go, and returned to her office for a glass of red wine. Missure Le'Fevre sought her out though not long after she had settled into her privacy.

"Madame? Might I have a word with you?"

"Of course, come in."

The manager entered and joined Madame Giry.

"Wine?" she offered.

"No-thank you but no thanks. I was hoping you could help me with something."

Madame Giry's brow rose, "What is wrong?"

He looked flustered, "Nothing . . . nothing . . . oh, the patron-Count Andre de'Chagny has gone missing and I don't know where to look. He wasn't in his apartments-Roaul told me he was here, but I doubt that. Michelle isn't here either, so I know not to ask her."

"Why ask Michelle?"

"Because he loves her."

"Yes, but does she love him?"

He blinked, "Any woman would be lucky to have him,"

"That's not the question at hand,"

He hesitated-he knew the same answer she did, "No. No she seems to despise him."

"Indeed,"

"Could she kill him?"

"Kill?" Erik would be, but Madame Giry doubted Michelle had the audacity to kill.

Would Michelle tell her the truth if Erik or her was the culprit?

"No, Michelle cannot kill. She can tell someone off hard enough I think though to cause someone to take the afternoon off though," she winked, "Young love is hard-you remember."

He nodded, "Thank you madame,"

Raoul paced in the living room of the flat he shared with his brother. Andre hadn't been home in three days. He contacted the authorities and reported everything he knew including the mysterious Michelle that his brother was infactuated with.

He paced after they assured him that they would investigate his absense. The door knocked again, and Raoul opened it to two older gentlemen.

"Greetings; I am Missure Andre and this is my colleague,"

"Misseur Fierman," the second finished.

"How can I help you two gentlemen?"

"We are a couple of recently retired men seeking out a new career in theatre," Andre began, "We were in the scrap metal buisness."

"And why come to me?"

"We need a patron." Misseur Fierman answered.

"A patron? To which opera house?"

"The Opera Popular,"

Raoul shook his head with disbelief, dropping into a chair. The two gentlemen sat in chairs without being promted.

"My brother is the patron there,"

"Well, he's gone missing apparently."

"So I am aware." he paused, "What happened to the current manager?"

"He wants to retire."

"Do you two have any idea how to run a theatre?"

"We will learn as we go."

_Great,_ Raoul thought, _Two idiots who want me to play patron, and one missing brother to a manager who clearly has no sense of responcibility. Why not be the patron? I can aid them when they have a question off stage. _

"Very well," Raoul said in more of a groan than a confindent announcement, "I shall be your patron. Send me word when you wish for me to appear."

"Excellent!"


	11. Chapter 11

Michelle awoke suddenly her mind already turning wheels in her head. She had felt the kiss of womanhood hit her in an instant, when she had mentioned her heart was his. She had felt him come close and felt his heat against her when they kissed. The flood gates seemed to have opened and she shared his bed for one night.

She blinked recallibrating where she was. She recalled little at first, and believed that she was in her own bed, until she felt another source of heat.

Erik.

She was still in his bed, she realized. His arm was draped around her waist.

She breathed deeply slipping out of the unbelievably comfortable bed, and warm embrace. She needed to return to the surface in case anyone missed her. She was partially dressed when she heard him stir, and rise.

"Good morning," he greeted, slightly groggy, reaching out for a chamber pot.

"Morning," she answered politely.

He dressed alongside her, "I should have returned you to the surface last night," he observed noting the time of day.

"It was worth it-even if it was only for this one night." she answered tucking her blouse into her pants.

Erik paused, a small smile forming at the corners of his lips, "I hope not."

She tugged her boots on, and buttoned her coat watching as Erik finished dressing, combed his hair, and attached his mask.

_That had been one beautiful factor to that night-he hadn't worn the mask. _

She followed him to the boat and they returned to the stairs. They didn't speak, as they ascended the stairs hand in hand. They reached the top, and the went through seperate exits.

She joined the others in the dormatory after choosing a fresh set of clothes, chosing a simple green dress with white trim.

Meg glanced up at Michelle, "Where were you last night?"

"Tucked away in the library last night," Michelle answered, "Couldn't stop reading about greek mythology."

"Really." Christine asked, "Didn't know we had a book for that in the library."

"Did you hear about Alyssa's father?"

Michelle nodded, "Sad really."

"'Sad'?" Meg asked, "But her family tried to kill you,"

"Yes, well, I want to try and just forget about that," Michelle answered. In truth the whole issue about what had happened was way too much for her to go back to a court system on.

Meg nodded understanding, "Have you seen Andre-the count? Misseur Le'Fevre is having himself a heartattack trying to find him."

She shook her head in accorinance to the answer 'no'.

"There's a rumor that just started that the Misseur is going to retire thanks to this little mishap."

"Really?" this was a surprise; the man had been genuinely patient with everyone. Had he lost his mind?

"Yes," Christine answered with a tiny grin, "Guess he got tired of dealing with both the opera ghost and Alyssa."

Meg grinned wider, "There's a rumor that whoever is taking over the new management is using Andre's younger brother as their patron."

Christine's brows rose, "Really? Raoul?"

Meg nodded.

Michelle watched as Christine's face glowed with excitement, "I miss Raoul,"

Meg and Michelle smiled for Christine, as Madame Giry entered the dining commons with the manager, "Ladies and gentlemen, today we begin rehersal for a new rotation of Hannible. We expect you all to be focused, and obediant. There's been an increase in accidents it would seem over the last few weeks. Please be careful-for all of our sakes." she paused as the manager spoke up.

"The casting is to be choreographed as follows; team leaders will be Michelle, Christine, Fylise, and Meg. Male leaders include Frederick, Richard, Ramon, and Loius. Hannible and his queen are to be played by Senior Barlo Biaggi, and Alyssa Carlotta-Dudecceli. All others will be assigned to teams as Madame Giry sees fit."

Over the flowing weeks, Michelle, Meg, Fylise, and Christine were subject to being team leaders for various chorus teams who were to dance and leap-frog over teams when they crouched. Michelle was a good leader but her mind was fumbling; Count Andre Phillipe deChagny was missing, and she was an accessory to his murder. She couldn't tell anyone, but she didn't know what else to say. Erik had been so swift in killing his competition for her amour. And then there was the death of Misseur Carlotta. Should swend her condolences to Alyssa? No; that would raise suspicion. Michelle thought over everything, but these deep thoughts that crossed her mind in the middle of rehersal was tiring her. She was flawless, but her expressions were no longer genuine.

Plus she wasn't feeling normal, and she wasn't sure why; she hadn't been ill, but her mind claimed that she wasn't.

Madame Giry knew her focus was not there.

"Michelle, what is wrong with you?"

"I am fine," she lied. She would have to confront Madame Giry sooner or later.

Then the strangers came in the early afternoon; three of them, whom followed Misseur LeFevre.

_"I can now tell you that these are all true and let me introduce you to the two new managers,"_

_"And we are proud to introduce our new patron; the viscount deChagny."_

Michelle paled when she saw the former count's brother enter. He was bold, and humble but Michelle could feel his eyes study the room in a kindly manner as he spoke. Hopefully she wouldn't encounter this viscount anytime soon.

She returned her full attention to the rehersal that had already been near perfected.

Then Alyssa threw a fit. Michelle held her tingue rather well amongst the other women, and watched as the new managers got a short tutorial to convince Madame Carlotta-Dudicceli (recently re-engaged and married) to take the role.

The canvass from the old swan lake performance dropped onto Alyssa driving her out of the opera house. Michelle glanced up and saw Erik drop a letter for Madame Giry. She smiled breiefly but knew he couldn't have seen it from where he stood.

"I have a letter from the Opera Ghost,"

Michelle listened, expectantly believing for a short duel against Christine for the new opening as leading sopranna.

"Christine Daa'e can do it. Let her sing for you, misseurs."

Michelle's eyes widened; she had lost the role without warning. Perhaps she was best kept as the last resort understudy.

_Who wants a Russian-Irish lead anyway?_

They had once, but as Christine perfected the "Think of Me," number, she knew that no one wanted the old replacement anymore.

Michelle bit her tongue knowing that this success for Christine would mean a lot for Erik.

_I will support Erik in every way I can unless told otherwise._

Christine finally finished her number, and then Madame Giry cut in; "Then you gentlemen are satisfied?"

"Very much," Misseur Andre answered baffled.

"Good," answered Madame Giry, "I must send Christine now to get fitted into Carlotta's things so she is ready for tonight." she paused glancing at Christine's former team, "Can you handle the steps without Christine?"

"Of course," they all answered in some manner or another.

Michelle watched as everyone vanished, the conductor called out, "Remember we are all to be ready tonight at seven! Seven!"

Michelle knew to be early, and deciding best not to change out of the costume retreated to an old recital practice room she knew very well, with an old piano. The same practice room her and Erik had used to make her the next sopranna. Michelle sat at the piano bench staring at the keys recalling her father's talent at playing; the fond memories of when he would have her sing for his guests.

Her fingers ran over the keys gently, never striking any sound out of them. She didn't know how to play. One day she might try to learn, but then again, she was old enough now that it wouldn't matter.

She stood and paced. She wasn't sure why she was so on edge, short fused, and worst of all unable to concentrate. She tried to think of the things that might have prevented her from being normal. She hadn't seen Erik much since that one night. Rehersals had left him in a tizzy dealing with Alyssa to put someone else in the front.

She paced further in the room; no one had bothered her much, and she was feeling certain that at this point, the issues relating to the deChangys and Carlottas were just little things. They all had it coming to them. Misseur Andre deChangy was stalking her, so it had been fair for Erik to defend her. And the Carlotta issue was obvious why she wasn't feeling bad about the misseur's sudden demise.

Michelle thought hard and then something hit the back of her thoughts.

_That night she had spent in Erik's arms._

Why was it so significant?

_Well, love clearly would have something to do with it,_ she mused. Then it hit her why it was so strange.

_I have to talk to Madame Giry-after all this show is over-tomorrow._

Michelle held herself erect but inside she was cringing at the thought, as she left the rehersal room, and returned to the mainstage to make touchups to her make up and prepare for the big night.

The performance was perfect; there was no pranks thanks to the absense of Madame Carlotta. Christine was winning hearts and she was going to impress Erik.

Erik.

She glanced up at box five as she leapt over another performer.

There was no Erik there . . . instead it was Raoul.

Erik couldn't be a happy camper.

She pushed it out of her mind and set her focus back on the next maneuver over a prop, to center near the (drunk) elephant.

At the end of the opening night's performance and curtain call, Michelle retreated to the dormatory for solitude. For some strange reason, she was jealous; Christine had swept the crowd off their feet-their seats as well. Something she wouldn't be able to do for quite sometime-perhaps never again. She was feeling crampy and very dizzy as well.

Despite knowing better, she blamed it on the lights, at least that's what she convinced herself, as she curled up into her bed and fell asleep hearing the galla of celebration for the one night.

Madame Giry snatched Erik's arm as he swiped the key for the leading sopranna's chambers.

"Do you know what you are doing?"

"Going to see my angel of music."

"Christine?"

"Yes,"

"What about Michelle?"

"What about Michelle?" Erik turned the question back on her.

"She's been troubled recently and she won't open up to me about it."

"I will talk to her later," Erik answered.

"But,"

"It is time to celebrate Christine's triumph. As her witness, and prepare her for the next stage in her singing-as the Countess."

Madame Giry knew that sound-passion; love, perhaps, but she knew what this could spell out if things fell into place between Erik and Christine.

But how would Michelle take it? She had been either accepting or oblivious to Erik teaching Michelle. But Michelle had changed somehow; she was somehow unstable-not her usual memo.

"Christine has guests,"

"Then I shall wait." Erik answered.

"Very well; just promise me that you shall see Michelle before you go too far with Christine to turn back."

Erik didn't answer as he vanished through a hole in the walls.

Michelle was awakened the next morning by Fylise.

"Get up,"

"What's wrong?"

"Christine-she's gone missing."

_Another bad dream,_ Michelle thought, but felt the physical tugging of Fylise and knew that this was a real issue.

"Where did she go last night?"

"I don't know; I saw the patron talking to her and then she vanished. Someone said that the viscount left on his own with no accompanyment, but she didn't come to bed either."

Michelle rose and dressed blind to any emotion.

_Shouldn't I care where she is?_ Michelle wondered as she dressed and followed Fylise out to the lobby where Meg and Madame Giry awaited them.

_I need to talk to Madame Giry-when we figure out what happened to Christine first._

"Michelle, with Christine's absense we have decided to let you become the leading sopranna for the repeat for tonight's show," the same thing as Christine was the night before, "Unless Christine comes back, you will lead the next show."

"What about Alyssa?"

"She hasn't returned either-it's for the best if she doesn't."

Then they heard her obviously shrill voice from across the room.

_So much for taking the lead . . . _

Then from behind them, came Christine still in her bedclothes.

"Christine," Meg cheered in silent excitement.

"Meg,"

"Where were you?" Fylise asked eagerly ignoring any chance that they might be overheard by the chorous of misgivings out near the grand staircase.

"Out," she answered.

"In your bedclothes?" Fylise was unconvinced.

Madame Giry and Meg went to announce that Christine had returned.

"We need to return her to the dorms," Fylise hissed at Michelle in a whisper, as Christine staggered.

Michelle blinked, but did as she was told.

_I know where you were, Christine._ Michelle thought calmly. Michelle convinced herself as they walked that she was not jealous; Erik was a genious-he had every right to celebrate with a bright young pupil.

When they reached the dorms, they helped Christine dress, and Fylise took her off to get Christine breakfast. Michelle stayed behind for a moment gathering her emotions.

She felt like she should talk to Erik but what could she say?

Then there was a knock at the door.

Michelle rose to answer it.

Raoul.

"Is Christine in?"

"No, Fylise took her out to get breakfast."

"Good." he started to turn away when he seemed to have had a thought.

"Who are you?"

"Michelle,"

"Le'Clair'e?"

"Yes,"

"Can we talk?"

Michelle slipped out of the dormatory, closing the door behind her.

"Walk with me," Raoul said shortly, and turned his back starting down the hall.

Michelle moved up beside him, matching his steps, "What can I help you with?"

"We have a common aquaitance, Madamoiselle."

"Do we?" she lied-she knew who he was talking about.

"Yes; my brother Andre Phillipe; the count-your former patron."

"Oh, yes,"

"So you do know him?"

"Yes."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Where is he?" Raoul stopped and turned to face her.

"I don't know," she answered, trying to be convincing about her lie.

"The last sight of him was in this building. I am at a loss on where to find him. You, Michelle, were one of the few things he obsessed over."

"I am aware of his obsessions."

"So did you tell him off?"

"Multiple times,"

"Why?"

"My heart belongs to another,"

Michelle was answering the lie by using truths and part of her wondered if these truths were still hers. She wondered if Erik held any love for her since their last encounter. If anything, Michelle's had grown larger.

"And to whom would that be? I need to know, so I can find my brother when I am not trying to deal with your two new managers."

"That is none of your buisness, because he was with me the night Andre supposedly went missing."

"So you're his cover?"

"Yes,"

"Charming." he sounded upset.

_What did Raoul want? _

"Do you know anything about Christine's dissapearance last night?"

"No," she paused, "I only heard this morning that she was missing when Fylise came and woke me up."

"Truth?"

"Of course,"

He paused then said, "Very well, that's all I wanted to ask you about."

She watched him leave her behind then her mind returned to her big dealing today; Madame Giry.


	12. Chapter 12

"Are you sure?" Madame Giry asked looking at Michelle dumbfoundedly. Michelle had just told her something that she hadn't expected, "When was you last flowering?"

"Well over a month ago, Madame Giry." she was picking at her nails nervously, dressed and ready to perform for the performance of Bayer-Muto; Le Contessa Amour. Her character was a ballet performer for acts one, two, four and six. Her first dress consisited of paisley colors, and light pastels. Michelle could have gotten a better role for this. Somehow she got jipped for a better part.

"Is this why you've been acting so strangely lately?"

"I think so." she answered.

Madame Giry was doing math in her head trying to recall how long Michelle could continue to perform until it would impede her work-some six to seven months maybe. Michelle could be a decent mother, she guessed.

"Does Erik know?"

"No-I only figured it out last night."

"And Erik saw Christine last night," Madame Giry reflected, a hint of dread in her thoughts tried to take over, but she doubted it.

Michelle's gaze dropped as if she had slapped the girl.

"Don't look so sad, Michelle. I doubt anything happened." She reached out and took Michelle's hands, "You will be a fine mother, and I will be happy to help you out as best as I can-so would the other girls. They do love you."

MIchelle nodded, "And Erik?"

"If Erik has any issues with it, I will deal with it. This is very important." she paused, "You're probably the first female amour that I am aware of. You are bold enough and strong enough to see past his scars and not be afraid if he tries to push you sideways in any manner. You are a good thing Michelle. Meg thinks so also."

"Does Meg know about Erik?"

"To an extent. She won't go over it in public. I will let her know about your condition, she can tell you what she knows when she's ready." she paused, "If you like I will also tell her not to share your gift with anyone until you are ready to tell people."

"What would I tell them? Society states that this will be a,"

"No," Madame Giry cut her off, her voice warm, "It won't be a bastard. What matters is that you and I know it's not. Everyone else can . . . well drop off a cliff." She kissed the girl's hands and said, "We should go and make sure everyone is ready to perform for tonight."

Michelle nodded, and followed Madame Giry to the main stage.

Act one went smoothly, and act two was about to reach it's chorous when the darkness came into the theater; Madame Carlotta's voice gave out, and Misseur Joseph Fukay was dead.

To these acts, she first chuckled from behind the stage, but paled to a near sheet white color at the suddeness of Fukay's departure. The man who had first thought her a fraud, then was Madame Giry's aid in trying to find her when she was abducted.

Now he was dead.

All because of a mishap in the casting, and lack of respect from the managers.

Madame Giry caught Michelle as people flustered and the managers tried to convince the conductor that the ballet from act three woulf be proper.

"Michelle, please find Erik and get him out of the upper levels before the authorities get here."

She nodded and turned away knowing that Christine had Raoul had ran for the roof. In her gut she knew Erik would await her-but it would be a bad ending if it was both Raoul and Christine.

She saw them run over a catwalk, and Michelle went for a back way to the roof, knowing that if they saw her then questions might arise.

Michelle could move faster than Christine she knew since she was wearing trousers for her next act on stage. She slid through a hidden door behind the costume's department, and went up a set of old stone steps hearing her heart beat into her ears, and knowing that if her deep secret was uncovered tonight-the affair with the opera ghost then there was no need to hide her secrets.

But as she reached the roof near the chimeny's that heated the opera house, she could hear Raoul and Christine debating. Michelle hid in the shadows, seeing Erik below her behind a gargoyle. He was listening, and he looked sad.

Was sad the right word?

Michelle dropped a red rose, laced with a black ribbon, and held Raoul. Their song was beautiful, and it haunted Michelle by how beautiful the lyrics were. Erik's face was turned away from her, as he peeked around a corner to see them.

It wasn't hard to guess how he was feeling.

Betrayed.

Michelle dropped her gaze as Raoul and Christine kissed, as if it was a sin to keep an eye out. Their song soon ended not long after that gesture, and soon they vanished back into the opera house, leaving Erik's rose behind.

Erik slipped out from behind his gargoyle and went to the rejected rose.

Michelle trembled as his own song emerged from the dead silence of his rejection-his betrayal. Her heart almost jumped to her throat when he leapt onto another gargoyle as his song ended in a vow.

Michelle slid down then from the heaters and into the flat surface of the roof Erik stood still on the gargoyle, still deeply hurt.

She came to the center of the landing, and waited in the cold quietly for Erik to come down.

He knew she was there; she could feel it, and it was a little while before he did come down.

"Michelle," his voice was weak.

"Erik," she answered in an even tone.

"Why are you here?"

"Madame Giry sent me. She wanted to make sure you were safe."

His face was red from the cold and his tears. She didn't move, afraid more than anything that Christine's rejection would force Erik to reject Michelle. He came close and embraced her.

"Thank you,"

Michelle didn't answer, just answered his gesture with an equal embrace.

When they pulled away, Erik looked at her a bit more composed, "You should go back to the opera; I am sure you are missed."

"A bit role in the background is never missed," Michelle answered, "You are more important than that."

He nodded, "Then come; we have work to do."

"Do we?"

"Indeed; We must finish _Don Juan_." he took her hand and led her away from the roof and back down the back stairwell towards his domain.

There was no romance in his voice or his touch, but then again a piece of him had just been ripped out of his chest. Hopefully not enough for him to forget what they had shared. The chamber had an odd odor, and it took Michelle a minute to recall that the count was decaying somewhere out there in the blackness of the water caverns.

"Wine?" he offered.

"No," she answered calmly recalling her small gift.

"No?" he rose a brow.

She shook her head.

"Suit yourself. It's here though if you desire it."

"Thanks you," she answered, as they sat down and stared down at the papers they had left off at.

"Is something wrong?" he asked after a while their focus in the papers surrounded by silence.

"No," she paused glaning up from page thirteen, "Why?"

"You usually take a glass of wine while proofing my work."

She put page thirteen down and looked at Erik, "There's nothing wrong-at least I don't think so."

He looked at her-waiting, quill in hand.

"Erik, I am pregnant."

His quill dropped onto the pages-the only sound it seemed after she made the confession. His eyes locked on hers for a long while then he rose and walked away from the table for another glass of wine.

"How long have you known?"

"Three days now." she answered.

"And no one has . . ."

"No one except you." she answered calmly.

He ran a hand through his hair and Michelle now began to feel the feel rejection hit her-if it was a good thing he would have said so by now.

"You don't approve?" she asked.

He didn't answer, picking up his quill again, and putting down more notes.

Feeling defeated for some sad reason, she returned her gaze to the page in front of her.

"It's not that I don't approve, but I didn't intend to create another monster."

"Who says it'll be a monster, Erik? It would never be a monster to me."

"To you." he answered, "To me it'd reflect all the things I can never be."

Michelle dropped page fourteen, "Please don't think that way, Erik. I am sure that when it comes into this world, this fear you have will melt away."

He grinned briefly, but it was as if her words couldn't reach him. She picked up page fourteen again and carefully evaluated the musical notations.

"How do you explain the father to them?"

"I won't have to," she paused, "And I don't care what anyone says or thinks."

He watched her expression for any sign of a lie or a fear, but she wasn't afraid. She loved Erik, and this now growing little Erik was going to mean much for the both of them.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Madame Giry,"

"And?"

"No one-she was thinking of telling her daughter, but that would be under strict confidentiality."

"Not even Christine?"

"No-no one is to know, without our approval."

Erik nodded and returned his attention to the pages.

"You haven't asked me about the post-galla-what happened between Christine and I."

"It's none of my buisness." Michelle answered making a small mark near a note that she wasn't sure about, and moving onto page fifteen.

Truth was, she dreaded knowing what happened.

He looked up sensing her genuine fear.

"I have loved Christine as long as I have been friends with you. Our love-yours and mine, it's meant to be lasting, I know it, but Christine has always held my heart. You know that. I have told you such." he paused noticing a tear involuntarily form at the corner of her eye, "Don't look so sad Michelle."

"I am not." Michelle answered trying to sound brave, "I love you, Erik." her breath began to shake, but in one deep breath she finished, "If Christine is what sets your heart alight, then let me be the one to help you achieve what you desire, by helping you with Don Juan-our project." She closed her eyes for one brief moment, then returned her focus back to the pages.

She didn't dare look up at Erik; if she could she would break her own heart, but Erik had beaten her to it. Now she was his shoulder, and friend-if she wasn't carrying, she would be his drinking companion, but everything seemed to turn gray around her.

"When the time comes, I will return to you," Erik said after a long silence, "And my heart can be yours if you chose it then."

She nodded but didn't answer.

Towards the end of the night of silent work, she rose, gathering her things, and left the cavern.

"Will you need help up the stairs, Michelle?"

"I am only one month pregnant, Erik. I can take care of myself." her heart was gone and was replaced by something that tried to make herself sound much stronger than she felt.

"Great, then I shall see you tomorrow-we have much work to do, and I want this ready by New Years."

"Fair enough," she answered and turned away first, up the stairs, not daring to look back and see if Erik was watching.

But when she reached her chambers, everyone deep in slumber, she grabbed her pillow, retreated to the bathrooms, and wept.

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The following day shed little light on Michelle, as she rinsed her face from no sleep and all tears. She hadn't planned on this emotion, and she knew better.

He had told her.

Michelle entered the dorms, dressed with the other girls who seemed not to notice her red eyes, and flushed cheeks.

She didn't eat much either that morning, despite it being one of her favorite breakfasts.

She did however prove herself capable to push aside her pains to perform, the daily rituals and rehersals as Christine once again donned the mask to be the countess. Michelle took Meg's place in the bedchambers, as she became the pageboy. Alyssa refused to participate futher into the production. Erik didn't interfere with the production further.

Madame Giry watched her obviously looking fr Michelle to open up and tell her about what happened the night before, but Michelle ignored her glacnes knowing that there was a high chance that she would cry again.

She couldn't risk being in that mood again.

However as she slipped off to the dormatory, Madame Giry caught her at the door.

"What happened last night?"

Michelle blinked trying to act oblivious to what she was talking about. But they both knew that she couldn't lie when it came to her and Erik.

"Michelle?"

"Our amour . . . is over Madame Giry. Erik has chosen Christine, and because I love him so, I am letting our love go."

Madame Giry looked sad. "I am so sorry Michelle,"

"It was a very bold thing that you have done. I hope Erik will think about that."

Michelle nodded knowing it wouldn't be for many years. Probably when Christine died, but she wouldn't let this memory hold her back. She would do her best to go on.

"So do I," she answered.


	13. Chapter 13

Despite a broken heart, Michelle returned nightly to Erik's side; she had agreed to help him write Don Juan. They were near completion with the notation, and next would follow the lines that Erik claimed that he didn't need to proofread but she insisted on looking over anyways. It had been only a month since that night of Alyssa's vocal misfortune, and Michelle's confession about her pregnancy. Over those weeks, they had barely spoken, unless Erik was upset about some correction she made on his work.

In the daylight when she had gotten an adequite amount of sleep, she practiced and rehersed with everyone. Christine had moved out, and now lived with Raoul, and unless she was changing or practicing he rarely left her side. On occasion, Michelle could see Erik in a rafter watching them, but it was only for a brief moment. He would soon vanish and then Michelle wouldn't see him until nightfall.

Madame Giry kept full tabs on Michelle that first month as well, checking on her and her small unbirthed bumdle of joy. This concept of having a child in the opera house was exciting Madame Giry.

Meg whom, spent time away from Christine lingered at Michelle and Fylise's sides when not with her best friend. Michelle didn't mind the company. Meg was a charming young woman now, who was getting some attention from men despite the fact that she wasn't a sopranna, and also the dance master's daughter. Madame Giry usually sidestepped the men, with odd remarks-she clearly didn't want to consider marrying her daughter off yet.

The new managers were on edge since the mishap with Joseph Fukay. Michelle always saw them jump at the slightest sound, as if they were next to be hung. Based on their management skills, they were nearly useless.

The musicians came and went; the man her and Erik had helped get hired Rufio Salitini had progressed being hired, and became a great asset to the conductor.

_Hopefully he would be able to make Don Juan sound like the opera that is playing in Erik's night at night._ Michelle thought.

They hadn't spoken since that night on the street, but then again why should he? To thank her for the job-it was Erik who had given it to him, not Michelle.

Don Juan, Michelle thought was originally a grand piece mean to inspire others, but after the premier of the Countessa, the game seemed to change to win Christine. The music seemed less flowing with each night.

"How does it end?" she asked as he handed her one of the final pages.

"How else? Don Juan wins what he set out to claim."

"And pray tell would that be?"

"Love, Michelle."

She bit her lip, as her eyes scanned over the notation, a clash of symbols, strings, and brass.

"But this is not a page for ending an opera on,"

"On the contrary; it's a sweeping ending, where our hero and his bride vanish before the curtains close-the audience can decide what happened to the lovely duo."

"But,"

"I will not change the ending."

"I am not saying you have to; I just feel for the audience this is maybe a different key than what they are going to hope for."

Erik shook his head, the ceramic mask reflecting brilliantly off the candlelight, "Then they will just have to get over it."

Michelle nodded and returned her attention to the pages.

"Do you disapprove?" He asked, a challenge lingered in his tone.

"No," she answered putting the page aside, and picking the next one up.

She could see him out of the corner of her eye watching her for any sign of a challenge, but when gave him none, he returned his focus back to the empty page before him.

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Madame Giry was in her office when Meg entered her office.

"Hello Meg,"

"Mother," her face was puzzling troubled, but Madame Giry couldn't think of a reason why.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing really-or at least that's what I hope."

"Come sit, my dear, and tell me what's on your mind."

Meg sat, after pouring herself some tea, and after taking a tentative sip, looked to her mother.

"Has Michelle done something wrong?"

"No, why?"

"Well, after you told me about Michelle with child, I couldn't help that almost immediatly after that Michelle seemed to lose her glow. Has something happened?"

Madame Giry sighed, "The Opera Ghost has decided to place his favor in others for the time. She will brighten up with time again."

"But what if she loses her beauty because of the Opera Ghost?"

"She won't. But she will never compare to you in my eyes." she smiled gently, knowing that Meg would cheer up about Michelle's broken heart.

"There are other questions that I am curious about."

"Oh?"

Meg nodded.

"Well?"

"Others are curious about what happened to the Count-Andre Phillipe?"

"I am not very sure of that myself, Meg."

"Could Michelle have killed him?"

Madame Giry shook her head, "No, Michelle was never meant to kill. She is an artist like you and me."

"What will she do when she get's closer to her due date?"

"I will find something for her to do. She's clever. It's going to put some responcibility on you and Fylise though."

"We can handle it."

"Good, well," she glanced at the clock on the wall, "I have a class here in a minute,"

"Of course," Meg answered.

(((((((((((((((((((((********************************************)))))))))))))))))))))))))))))

Michelle nodded her approval to Erik as she finished evaluating the final page of notes, "Good job; you have written the music for your triumph." she smiled, wishing she could have downed a glass of wine to ease her troubled heart.

Erik was satisfied with her answer, as he bound it all in a leather book.

"What's next?" she asked him.

"You wanted to proof my words, did you not?"

She nodded shortly, unsure what he would say or do.

He handed her a different binder, these are the words they must learn."

She undid the straps holding it together, and rather than sit at the table, took a handful of the pages and paced reading each word carefully. Moving about helped her visialize how the words were meant to be sung in compare to the music that was written.

_Impressive,_ she mused. The lyrics were smooth, nearly a lullaby, but chipped in the edges-the transitions.

"Who do you plan to run the charcters?"

He shrugged as if her question was pointless, "Fylise will be the leading the dances, Carlotta will head the leading chorus team, while Christine is the prize. Don Juan will be lead by Barlo Biaggi. Meg shall lead the supporting chorous groups."

"And I?"

"You-will you even be able to dance then?"

"I shall only be five months, I can take care of myself."

Erik looked at her, "Then you will help Meg lead the teams."

Michelle nodded, knowing that he had clearly meant not for her to be in the production.

"What would you have me do?"

"Watch from backstage,"

Michelle felt defeat nearly instantly, and returned the first half to review the second half of the lyrics. She had barely reached the end when her mind began to understand what Erik was doing with this opera now;

Take Christine back from Raoul.

_Say you want me here beside you_

_Anywhere you go let me go too . . . _

"So, when do you plan to replace Biaggi on the stage?"

"The ending scene,"

"Of course," she nodded, _Where else?_

She returned the pages to the table, closing the book carefully after reorganizing the pages. She glanced at the time; it was later than she had thought. His words had moved her.

Blinking she handed the book back to Erik.

"What? Nothing to remark on it?"

Michelle shook her head, "You seem to have things well taken care of."

He looked slightly disappointed.

"Then your task here is finished, Michelle Le'Clair'e."

"Pardon?"

"You have no need to return here; the opera is finished and I shall deliver it in due time. There's a masquerade in two months. You should be there to see the chills I shall send throughout the audience."

"The mardi gras masquerade?"

"The same,"

Michelle nodded, "I thought you would say that." she remarked with a hint of sandess in her voice; this was not the ending she had hoped for in their partnership. From a sleeve she pulled out the old yellow velvet rose Herriott had given her once, and placed it on the desk where the finished pieces sat, "So you remember that I am always here for you," she turned and went to the water without waiting for him to speak, "I shall see you at the ball then," she answered and wearing clothing that would permit her to be active, went to the deep end of the water and swam back to the staircase beyond.

#$%^&*&^%$##$%^&&&^%$##$%^&**&^%$##$%^&*&^%$##$%^&*&^%*(*()))

Madame Giry entered her office to find a package bound in leather and a red skull wax seal.

Erik.

She undid the wax and looked over the contents within; detailed sketches, and well organized writing within. There was a note as well;

_Anne,_

_You must think of me now as a man who made a few mistakes recently, but I promise that what I am about to do shall remedy all that I have done. I pray that you shall find it in your heart to forgive me for the burdens I have lain at your feet. Please hang onto these contents until after Mardi Gras and then disperse them as you see fit-no sooner. _

_Forever your servant,_

_Erik._

She evaluated the letter carefully, wondering if he wrote anything for Michelle in the binder, but found nothing that mentioned her in the package other than a brief mention at the end for her contributions to the script.

_So what was her role then?_

She shuffled through the lines, and the artistry again noticing the detail to each face and how each one was labled for a specific person. He had even given her a layout for how the stage would be set up.

Her brow furrowed; the mix of reds, fires, and erotic choreography that was requested for this piece was awkward at best.

She would have to talk to Michelle-if Erik got everything he wanted in this production, Christine would become Erik's trophy, and less of a romantic partner.

She returned everything to the folder and tucked it away under her cot, and left her office to find Michelle, who wasn't hard to find.

Perched on a window ledge in the library, staring out into the snow covered streets.

"Michelle?"

Michelle turned her head to face Madame Giry who paled at Michelle's pale haunted look.

"What has happened?"

"I have been severed from the partnership Erik and I had struck many years ago."

"To write an opera,"

She nodded. She had learned to stop asking how Madame Giry knew things that she hadn't spoken about. Erik had told her much when Michelle was more than a former work partner.

"Yes, to write an opera." her gaze returned to the streets.

"It didn't go over well?"

Michelle didn't answer.

"Michelle?"

"He informed me that I have no reason to return to his chambers-forbid would be more proper for the tone he used." she turned from the window and slid off the sill, and stood facing Madame Giry.

"I am sorry Michelle,"

"Don't be sorry. He chose the actions, I just let him have his way. I told you, I will do everything I can to support him."

Madame Giry smiled weakly recalling how she used to care for Erik when he was young, bringing him food and hiding him before he got caught in something he shouldn't.

"Love is a fickle thing-he will return to you in time. Christine won't stay-she loves Raoul."

She shrugged.

"Meg is going out tonight with some of the other ballet dancers-you should go with them. Get out of the opera house for a while. You deserve to give yourself a break."

Michelle nodded, and without smiling left the library.

Madame Giry watched her go, then heard something move above her.

Erik.

"Come down-she's gone."

She knew he didn't have to be told twice. He dropped down and stood three feet off to her right. She turned to face him.

"What have you done to that girl?"

"Nothing; she broke her own heart."

"Bull," Madame giry snapped, "She must have felt something from you."

He shrugged, but Madame Giry saw the regret in his eyes.

"So why Christine over Michelle?" Madame Giry asked, "Because she's younger? More in her prime for her voice? What was it?"

Erik couldn't answer, let alone look into her eyes, "What's done is done. I won't turn my back on what I have chosen to do."

"Win Christine over Raoul?" she didn't wait for his answer, "What if your stunt doesn't work. I scanned over the package you gave me. You didn't even cast Michelle."

"She doesn't fit any of the roles in the script."

"Why not?"

He didn't answer again.

"You have a large heart Erik, I hope you will understand what it was that you have lost when Michelle has finally moved on from this opera house."

She started to turn away when Erik asked, "Has she ever told you what happened to her royal stalker? The Count deChagny?" he didn't even pause long enough for her to take a breath, "I killed him when he followed her down the tunnels to the staircase. I drove my sword through his heart. He rots even now at the bottom of my chambers. She didn't even blink at the sin I had done."

"She's understood your actions then,"

"But she is not what I planned for, even from the begining."

Madame Giry frowned; for some reason she already knew that Andre was dead. Raoul would have to be notified as soon as she had a chance to catch him alone.

"Then you have begun to lose your vision, Erik. It's common, but you were the last person I dared expect suh a curse to befall."

Erik started to speak when she put a finger to his lip, "Not another word today, Erik. I have things that must be taken care of. Whatever you are planning, I shall do as you bid, but if Christine turns you down don't pursue her further. You have people who love you, and are willing to overlook the things you've done to them."

With that, she turned and left Erik in the library to ponder her statements.


	14. Chapter 14

Raoul sat in box five as Christine took the stage once again to perform another classical Mozart opera. The recently deceased man's ideas had been sent out to them to do another memorial piece. Raoul saw Christine flaunt nearly in how perfect she was, and it made him feel good to see her so pleased. Michelle and Meg lead another set of dancers on a lower platform racing blue streamers as if to make it look as if Christine was at the waters surface. The choppy waves were not very distracting, but it was very unnormal for the Popular to do something like this.

Raoul blamed the management.

If they had done what the phantom had told them long ago to do, then perhaps things would have gone better.

His brother might still be alive.

Madame Giry had caught him while he had been out shopping for engagement rings to tell him this.

_What a mood killer that had been._

Madame Giry explained herself well, but Raoul's mind was stuck on the words; Andre is dead.

Dead.

_"Is it so common for deaths to occur at the Opera Popular?" Raould had asked emotions flooding his senses._

_"No, misseur; it seems to have been an accident from what I have been told. Someone found him under the opera house in the basements."_

_"The basements? What was he doing down there?" But he already knew the answer to that._

_Michelle Le'Clair'e._

_He put his face in his hands, as he sat down on a public bench. _

This is not what I wanted to hear.

_"You are seeking an engagement ring?" Madame giry asked._

_"Was. I cannot do it in this sort of mood."_

_"You ought to-and marry her. Soon."_

_"Why?"_

_She didn't answer, but left him there on the park bench to debate, mourn and try to decide what came next in his life._

But now he was watching the opera. Christine was hitting every note with perfection.

He smiled; _I love you, Christine._

One of the opera dancers who was on her break slipped into his box.

"Can I help you?"

She glanced about quickly, and placed a note in his hands, and vanished. Raoul recalled the girl to be called Fylise, a talented chorus girl who was a friend of Christine's. He opened the note and read it carefully despite how brief it was.

_If you know what's best, do not go to the Masquerade Ball with Christine. Stay home and do something togther._

He folded up the note and slipped it into his pocket.

_I do not fear the opera ghost or anyone's threats here in this building. Christine wishes to go, and I will take her to the ball._

It was only a month away, but it meant much to Christine to join friends in celebration for this yearly celebration.

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Michelle had denied herself many things due to a fear that she could care again, but she would go to the masquerade, and not for Erik's sake. She had to do something; if she sat out on the sidelines forever waiting for Erik to come back, then there was nothing in life.

She went out with Madame Giry and her daughter to find a suitable costume for the event. She wasn't sure what she would choose or what would set her soul afire these days. The last month of silence-with no Erik in her life had been greuling, and she had lost weight rather than gain anything.

It wasn't good for the child, but she was never hungry anymore.

Madame Giry chose a tailor shop that did custom orders. For Michelle, this was not the place she would have chosen but as her fingers ran across the fabrics, she felt her skin warm against the softness of the velvets.

"Does the lady like velvet?" the tailor asked her.

Michelle smiled weakly, "Yes,"

The tailor circled Michelle once, "You're with child?"

She nodded.

"Four months, I'd guess," she was musing to herself, but the tailor returned her focus to Michelle, "I can make a fine dress that shall knock the guests off their feet, if you wish."

She shrugged, but Meg who perched her chin on Michelle's shoulder playfully said, "Make Michelle a princess, force the men to vye to be the father of her child," she placed a hand on Michelle's middriff.

"Of course,"

Michelle turned to Meg, "I cannot pay for such beauty. You mother knows that I put all of my pay into that donation box out front."

"Mom's paying-a belated Christmas present."

"Meg, I cannot,"

"From me then, Michelle. You haven't treated yourself in a long time. You deserve something nice."

Michelle tried to smile kindly, but found it hard to.

"All I need is to take some sizes, but you can come back in three weeks-it'll be just in time for your Mardi Gras Masquerade." she winked, and helped Meg and Madame Giry find the appropriate fabrics.

"What about colors?" Meg questioned her mother.

"Madame Levonett, will do that for us. She is a genious at color scheming."

They returned two weeks later to stare at three dresses on manequins waiting to be tried on. Madame Giry was the first to try on her dress and have it fitted; an oriental black dress with delicate gold embroidery and trim. Meg went next, who's long white dress made her more graceful than ever, like a moving painting. Her smile seemed to glow just from being in the dress.

Michelle was fitted last; a black dress with a corset back was lined in silver velvet. The center of the dress on the torso had delicate embroidry of birds flying up to her bussom where a small feather centerpiece was set, and the shoulders were centered with elegant black feathers on velvet.

Madame Giry watched carefully as Michelle stared at herself in the mirror; the dress suited her looks, but the Madame could see that Michelle could see some of her old scars. Michelle smiled weakly, but Meg was bounding with excitment to see that they were both so beautifully dressed for the big event.

"It's beautiful," Madame Giry remarked, "A master piece, Madame Levonett."

"For two single mothers it's the best gift I can give."

Madamde Giry paid for the three dresses out of her pocket, and escorted her children back to the opera house where others were making arrangements to be primped and ready for the event that was to be held the following week. Most had a significant other that would attend to them that night, but for Meg and Michelle, there was no man to accompany them.

Madame Giry actually felt bad for them. She would have to do something about that. She wasn't sure how, but she would figure it out. Meg would be easy-she had had a suitor to whom Madame Giry had liked but was unsure if he would be able to attend. For Michelle, well that would be a different story.

She would figure it out though, she always did.

The answer was with Raoul whom brought the occasional friend to watch his bride-to-be perform. For the final showing of Shakespeare's Midsummer Night's Dream, adapted to opera by Misseur Rayay himself, Raoul brought a confident man named Alexi Gregorski. Around the same age as Michelle herself, Madame Giry couldn't help but admire his strong features and charmed expression as he watched the performance.

Madame Giry kept in earshot during the galla to see if this man had been captivated by any of the performers.

"What did you think dear friend?" Raoul asked Alexi.

"Very original. Shakespeare is one of the last artists I would have deemed worthy of being an opera. You're lucky to be the patron here,"

Christine bounded up to Raoul, leaping into his embrace.

"My angel! You did so well tonight!" Raoul greeted Christine. He released Christine and gestured to his friend, "I recall you remember my fiance, Christine."

"With pleasure," he answered kissing Christine's hand.

Christine blushed slightly, but returned her attention to Raoul immediatly.

"Raoul," Alexi caught his attention again, "Who were the two angels who lead the supporting cast?"

"Oh, the chorus girls?" Raoul asked.

"Yes," Alexi's eyes Madame Giry saw were scanning the galla, as it migrated out to the main lobby.

"Madame Giry's daughter Meg, and Miss Michelle Le'Clair'e." Raoul's voice stiffened slightly on Michelle's name.

"What?" Alexi asked catching his stiffness.

"It's nothing. Michelle captivated my brother for some time."

"That Michelle?"

Madame Giry's brow rose. _What had Raoul been saying about Michelle._

"Yes,"

"You forgot to mention that she was beautiful,"

Raoul shrugged, "Why would I when I have Christine?" he kissed Christine's cheek, and returned to Alexi, "If you wish to persue Michelle go ahead. I don't know if she's really worth the trouble,"

"Why?"

"I'll tell you later."

Madame Giry watched as the group split off, Raoul and Christine to mingle with others, Alexi retreated to get a drink.

She followed Alexi, innocently getting herself a drink as well.

She paused as Alexi noticed her intentions, and handed her the glass he was about to take for himself.

"Quite the show this evening, Madame Giry."

"It was," she answered, taking a small sip of the wine, feeling it's sweet bitterness play with her tongue as she swallowed.

"I didn't beleive Raoul when he said he was a patron here, so he made me tag along just to prove it."

"And?"

"I am glad he did. There's quite the variety of beauty here that I am overwhellmed by the Opera Popular's splendor."

"Performer's included?"

He glanced at her, green-blue eyes trying to seek any catches but he turned his face away to look amongst the crowd.

"The performers were . . . hypnotizing." he paused, "I hate to ask, but what do you know of this Michelle Le'Clair'e?"

Madame Giry grinned, "Much."

"Raoul doesn't approve of her,"

"Raoul has his reasons, but you cannot blame Michelle." she glanced about, "Let's go somewhere more private, and I can answer whatever it is that Raoul might have said."

He nodded and followed without hesitation.

_A good sign. _she mused as she walked, _It's time to give Michelle someone who will not leave her side._

They entered her office, where Madame Giry poured herself more wine from her own stash, and refilled Alexi's glass.

"What do you want to know?" she asked when they were seated.

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Michelle heard Meg bound up to her with excitment and joy, "Wake up!"

Michelle groaned and rolled out of bed. Meg was already dressed casually since there was no opera to deal with now that the masquerade ball was so soon-three days to be presise. She dressed, used the powder room, and followed Meg out to the dining commons where Fylise and others had gathered about for breakfast.

"What's going on, Meg? What's with the excitement?"

"Madame Levonnett came this morning with another parcell of masks and hats specifically labled for everyone."

"I didn't request one," Michelle answered.

"A gift for Madame Giry inviting the Madame to the masquerade." she bounded up to the parcell and opened the boxes to fine the one with her name on it, and returned with a delicate parcell for Michelle and returned to the fiasco of finding her package.

Michelle opened hers to find a silver feathered mask lined in black, green, and purple feathers. The mask could be tied with a gold ribbon. She barely had time to register what she saw, when meg returned with a head piece over a mask.

"Oh it's so beautiful," Michelle answered, when Meg flaunted it's glamour.

"I know!" she giggled, "I cannot wait for this event!"

Madame Giry came to them holding a letter.

Michelle's heart nearly skipped a beat in fear that it was from Erik until she handed it to Meg.

"What's this?" she asked her mother with question.

"Misseur Rene Roussiar, has sent you a letter Meg."

Meg's eyes widened with curiosity until she read the note.

"He is coming to the ball for me?" she sounded conserned at first until it hit her that she was the reason for him coming. "For me!" she hugged her mother.

Michelle watched but her attention went back to the mask on her lap. The intricasy was so prefected that Michelle was afraid to wear it, for it might break by her wearing it.

"Don't worry, Michelle, my dear. Madame Levonnett knows what she is doing; it won't fall off."

Michelle carfully wrapped, it back into it's package somehow hopeful for this event.


	15. Chapter 15

The ball came quicker than what felt like three days. Meg and Michelle hadn't seen Christine since the Shakespeare night, but knew she would come with Raoul to this event. The entire day it seemed was meant for everyone to dress up, and feel pretty. Michelle stared at herself in the mirror feeling her little package within grow-and it was starting to show when she turned and looked at herself from the side.

The dress that Madame Levonnett had created made her seem untouched by any man, and it made Michelle feel younger than she felt. despite still only being in her younger twenties, she couldn't help but sometimes feel older.

Meg did Michelle's hair; tieing it back and up into a bun, that had some drapery in the back, but not too much. Then she added some hair pins with small silver gemstones.

"Now you look like a princess," Meg remarked looking into the mirror, her head at level with Michelle's, "I'll let you do your own make up, but remember, you are going to be wearing a mask.

Michelle only added a little cover up, and light pink lipstick to her face. She didn't pay much attention to jewelry but added a simple necklace and matching emerald earrings to her person, before rising to help Meg with her own hair.

Madame Giry joined the girls with Fylise who wore a silver dress with gold lining, and a swan headdress.

"You girls look lovely," Madame Giry remarked. Her face had a twinkle etched on every line of her face. Michelle wasn't sure why, but didn't care too much, as she pinned Meg's hair into a cascade of layers and locks, before adding on the headdress.

"When will Misseur Roussiar come?" Meg asked.

"You read the letter; he will meet you here." Madame Giry reminded her.

Michelle smiled but deep down felt her heart drop knowing no one was waiting for her.

Madame Giry noticed her flash of grief and remarked, "Don't look so down, Michelle; I have heard a buzzing about you for a while. Someone will come for you tonight."

She glanced at Madame Giry seeking out an answer to her riddle, but when she found none, returned her attention back to the final hair pin that held Meg's hairpiece in.

"You look splendid, Meg." Michelle remarked, "You will knock the misseur off his feet."

Meg giggled, for they both knew that she was a sparkling diamond ready for tonight's event.

Despite all the hours before the event, Michelle didn't realize how fast they went by until they exited the dormatories and down the hall to the lobby where people were entering, making conversation, and song happen. Michelle paled behind her feathered mask feeling herself quiver with some fear.

Meg squeezed her hand, pointing out the misseur who was to meet her out from the entrance.

"Oh, Michelle!"

"Enjoy yourself Meg." she released Meg's hand, hearing the fireworks outside explode and color the night sky. Michelle decended the steps behind Madame Giry and Meg, and as they reached the bottom, everyone splitting off to mingle, dance and/or sing, Madame Giry took her hand and lead her off to the side.

"I have arranged for a partner for you tonight-you need not fear him, but he will come to you."

"How will I know this man?" Michelle asked feeling fear strike her.

"He will know you," a voice said from behind her. Madame Giry looked beyond Michelle, a small smile lined her face.

The voice came around to reveal a man in a white uniform with black trim, wearing a mask resembling a lion.

"Michelle, allow me to introduce you to Alexi Gregorski."

Michelle extended her hand to shake his, but he took her hand to his lips; the gesture of a gentleman.

"Alexi, this is Madamoissele Michelle Le'Clair'e." Michelle glanced at Madame Giry but she was already back amongst the crowd meeting up with Meg and her misseur for the night.

"May I?" Alexi gestured for them to join the dancing.

Lost in mixed emotions and thoughts, Michelle nodded, unsure what to say or if she trusted herself.

He took her hand, and lead her out onto the floor as Christine and Raoul entered the lobby, but Michelle couldn't focus on them, as the misseur's very touch made her body come alive, sending heat waves up her spine, making her face feel flushed.

The room became a blur of music and voices, but she couldn't hear them well, as her eyes locked onto this date Madame Giry had given to her.

_What is wrong with me? Why am I acting like this?_

She knew why, but she didn't want to believe she was capable of being able to open her heart again.

Then the lights went out.

And as the crowd parted like the Red Sea, Alexi and Michelle turned to see Erik. Michelle's hand instinctivly went to her waist, as if he had actually hit her. Her misseur held her shoulders in case she decided to faint.

But she knew she wouldn't faint. She watched as Erik made his way down th staircase, his words so dark, and yet the sound was what she remembered; beautiful. His eyes barely touched hers, as his focus went to Alyssa, Barlo, and the managers, careful not to step on the notation he had laid before their feet. He looked so rigid but graceful.

Then he moved to Christine, who's Misseur deChagny had vanished.

It was like he had snapped her into some spell; she looked so lost in his gaze. Michelle remembered when he could do that to her on occasion. Then his hand snatched out, taking her necklace with an elaborate diamond ring and vanishing.

"You belong to me," he had hissed.

Madame Giry had moved as well; her composure had been worried, and yet mournful in some manner. Meg had moved to her mothers side with a similar look to it.

Raoul dove into the staircase trapdoor, the doors closing behind him.

Alexi turned Michelle to face him.

"Are you alright?"

She blinked; was she? She couldn't feel anything suddenly. Her hand had left her waist, but his actions tonight made it feel as if he had run his sabre through her.

She nodded to Alexi, who took her arm and escorted her to the now vacant buffet table.

"You need a drink," he reassured her.

"The punch then," she remarked, when he reached out for champagne.

He paused looking at her confused.

"The father?"

"The man who vanished." she nodded confirming his question.

"Punch it is," his face smiled but he looked troubled.

She took the glass he handed her, and sipped it, her hand trembling from Erik's startling appreance.

"Perhaps some air would be appropriate." he offered.

Michelle nodded noticing that this party crasher had somehow made everyone start to vacate the facility for the night.

He escorted her to the nearest exit, the same as the one Meg and her ser were headed.

Meg glanced at Michelle, "Are you alright?"

Michelle nodded not trusting her word in front of Meg. Misseur Roussiar introduced himself to Alexi, as the four of them went out. Alexi by now had removed his mask, and Michelle could see his face fully; clear complexion, smooth skin, and dazzling eyes framed with light brown brows.

Meg however broke her trance.

"Are you sure? He scared me tonight the way her acted. He seemed to ignore you."

"It's for the best," Michelle answered, removing her mask, but not discarding it, carefully holding it like a delicate package.

"Michelle,"

"It's fine; I knew for some reason he would chose tonight to give up the notations."

"How did you know about that?"

"I proof-read his work. I don't know if he changed anything though over the last month."

Meg nodded, glancing at Alexi, "He's cute."

Michelle nodded, feeling a grin come over her that she couldn't force away.

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Madame Giry became the director for Don Juan with the assistance of Michelle since she wasn't in the production. Michelle gave out the documents to everyone as assigned; costume to costume tailors, music to Misseur Rayay, and the lines to the chorus, leads, and support.

Alyssa was not pleased, "Why do I have so few lines?"

Michelle shrugged, "I am not the one who wrote it. You shouldn't ask me."

"But," Carlotta was about to protest further but she as she handed Barlo Biaggi his set of lines, he complained as well.

"What sort of lines are these for an opera?"

"Take it up with the Madame; I am just the messenger."

And they did, as Michelle and Misseur Rayay, were discussing the issues with Madame Giry abou the jutting of certain notes, and how the red melody had no feeling.

"How can I make this work? No one will want to come back to the oepra house if we do it as the Phantom has instructed."

Madame Giry held her tongue as Carlotta came in with the managers who carried notes; assingments for them to do when it came to paychecks. The complaints became a chorus of arguments, as Meg entered and gave Madame Giry another note; a repeat of what he had told them when he had crashed the masquerade ball.

Christine and Raoul began to bicker about the lines and goal of this opera with Alyssa, forcing Michelle to leave and clear her head, as Alyssa called Christine 'mad'.

Meg followed her out, "Are you sure he gave us the right script."

"I am certain of it. But the chaos of how everyone is taking this is killing me." she answered, as her and Meg sat outside Madame Giry's office.

"Don't fret on it too much, Michelle. Remember, you are the co-director. Not _the_ director."

She nodded, but she still felt the burden since she had helped write this opera.

"Don Juan must not be performed ever again after it's one performance." Michelle remarked cautiously in case Erik was listening.

"No?" Meg questioned.

"No; it's so complex that people will need time to become adjusted to it's oddity. It should only be a yearly performance if at all."

She nodded, taking Michelle's words to heart. She wasn't at a loss for the opera; Michelle knew that Meg didn't like it much. Leaving her and Fylise to run the the whole of the chorus and supporting cast was ridiculous.

They watched as everyone left Madame Giry's office, red faced, frustrated and mad about the performance to come.

The managers never came for the practices, read-throughs, or the rehersals. A shock to Michelle, then again after that ball, who would dare challenge Erik?

She watched later in the afternoon as Carlotta and Barlo were front and center trying to enunciate the proper words as the conductor instructed.

"This is ridiculous!" screamed Carlotta.

"Please," Madame Giry snapped, "We've been over this; with the composer always watching us reherse this, we must get this right."

"Fuck the composer," snapped Carlotta, striding off the stage.

The condtuctor, Misseur Rayay, shook his head, dropping his hands onto his podium, "Perhaps this is as far as we go today." he glanced at Madame Giry. "When does this have to be ready?"

"The middle of March."

"So three weeks from now?"

"Yes,"

He tapped sweat from his face, and sighed, "We will continue tomorrow."

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Michelle recieved a message that night from Alexi, inviting her out to dinner the following night.

_I could use the break. _she decided smiling. He had been supportive of her that night at the masquerade escorting her back to the dormatory, and checking on her every other day in case she needed some sort of support. Madame Giry had done well in choosing him. Michelle was aware that he was a friend of Raoul's, and despite the distance between her and the Count, the tension between them seemed to have melted between them with Alexi in her life.

_Could I move on from Erik now?_

Perhaps dinner tomorrow would tell her.

The show was going as planned, over the last week, costumes were perfected, even edited slightly by adding more color in some places. Michelle was the one who had to give the approvals for the pieces, which she did when she saw they added gold lining to the people of the chorus, or added yellow embroidery to the bottom of various dresses. Carlotta's black dress was given feathers in the headpiece, and black beads in the bussom. Biaggi's costume looked plain, but the most they were willing to add was extra color to his headpiece without moving away from the obvious drawing.

Music was not altered in any way, but Michelle wished Misseur Rayay would dare to do so, make certain notes last longer, but he was more afraid of the Phantom than Michelle thought, and insisted that if he altered the notes in any manner, the whole thing would have to be rewritten.

Lines were left as is, though Biaggi and Carlotta altered them to go with their voices. It bothered the composer emensly, but then again, no one would notice if another gray hair grew.

Props and scenery was simple enough, fire, glitter and red. Red . . . it seemed everything was red or black, but it was alluring nonetheless. Michelle approved everything based off the ordered images, with the final product.

Christine was rarely seen as she clung to Raoul for support, but he never helped her with the words; Meg was the one who went to Michelle's side to practice. The words at the end were missing, but Michelle knew what went there.

_Anywhere you go let me go too . . . _

She swallowed, dread of knowing what would happen when the time came moved her unexpectedly.

But who was she afraid for? Erik or Christine?

Only time would tell.

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Alexi had chosen an elegant resturant near the opera house, making Michelle feel awkward entering the facility so casually dressed in a simple dress. He didn't seem to notice though, as he helped her into her seat, and then took his own as the waiter came offering menus and refreshments. Michelle asked simply for water, as Alexi chose wine.

"As you will."

They sat in silence for a while.

"How goes rehersals?" he asked when the waiter left.

Michelle exhaled, "It's too much-these last few days have been catastrophic at best. The script, the music . . . everything. It's just so tediously set that no one really wants to alter it in fear of the Phantom."

"He's no phantom." Alexi remarked, "I have seen my share of ghosts and phantoms. This man is just taking on some fancy title for Christine."

Michelle nodded.

"Between us; what is his actual name? It would help us here tonight."

She looked at him then to the rest of the resturant as if they were going to listen, "Erik,"

"Erik," he nodded, "Quite the simple name. What's his story? Why hide?"

"It's a long one," Michelle answered, hoping that this would not become the center of tonight's conversation. Alexi was interested but it was clear that he was bothered by Erik's presense in Michelle's life, "I will tell you about it sometime."

"Not tonight?" he nodded despite his remark being a question, "Well, I know that he was a part of your life at one point, and that's why I want to know."

"For what purpose?" Michelle asked timidly.

"Well, for your sake. It's clear he doesn't want you in his life; he cut you out of this opera, his child is within you, but he hasn't tried to support you." he paused, "When we-you and I were at the masquerade, I don't know if you felt anything, but I did. Under your touch I felt like I was touching a static shock. It didn't hurt, but I didn't want the sensation to leave Michelle."

"What are you getting at?"

"If he doesn't want you or the child in his life; I do."

She gulped without having drank anything. The words were so touching but she didn't know if she could believe them.

He reached out across the table and took her hands, "Look; I know that I haven't known you very long-perhaps not as long as Erik, but I have been enchanted by you since the last showing of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_. I hold strong feelings for you Michelle."

She gulped again, shaking; these were words she was not prepared to answer without tears. It had been so long, and there were no catches in these words like Erik had told her.

"I don't know if I am ready to love again yet," she answered, trying to calm her shaking.

"Then I will wait-as long as it takes. When you are ready Michelle."

She couldn't help but dip her head in shame; this was genuine, and she was panicing. She needed to talk to Meg about this when they had a free moment together.

She looked up teary eyed and smiling, "Thank you,"

He was glowing by her honesty, "Of course; do you know what you would like to eat tonight?" he took his hands back so he could evaluate the menu."

"No-I have never been here before."

Alexi smiled and watched her as she read it, choosing a simple fish dish with a side of rice and salad. She chose to order the same.

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	16. Chapter 16

The lights had been dulled down to a red luster in the opera house as the performance began. Michelle stood off stage right watching as the the show began. She and Madame Giry had spent some time making sure things lined up, but now with it night out, the play looked like something from Hell.

Was that what Erik was looking for?

It had originally seemed more Spanish, not just because of the title, but the costumes, and lyrics had seemed that way as well. Michelle had not done any research for this play to know any better.

The wicked words and dark undertone messages performers were forced to say made the audience turn their heads to one another in question. The chorus despite the awkward words didn't have any flaws. Carlotta was better tempered than before hand, when she had first received the script. She almost looked mature in costume, but Michelle knew better.

Then Barlo and his companions took the stage. Something was amiss, but what was it? Michelle watched as they did a short duo, then Barlo vanished behind the curtain. She glanced to Madame Giry who was focused on watching Christine as she entered. To the composer who seemed to sweat more than usual was moving robotically tonight. He was nervous. He had every right to be; Erik's work was tough to change without altering the work entirely.

But nothing despite her suspicions was wrong.

Then she heard his voice.

Erik.

Where was Barlo?

Everyone else seemed to have noticed the sudden change, but only a small group of people realized that this was not supposed to happen. Madame Giry paled, her eyes widening by Erik's debut to the public.

Michelle turned her head towards Raoul who was sitting attentively in box five. He was lost in the spell Erik had set in motion, but she wasn't sure if it was disgust, or bewilderment that had ensnared him.

Then Michelle saw the authorities begin to move into positions with a clear view of Erik.

_Please don't shoot Erik. _She prayed silently, as Erik ascended the stage right staircase, Christine to the left. The ability to be in control was impressive. The last several nights had seen Christine to begging with Raoul not to do this performance, but now she was here and doing the role.

Fearless, would be a good word to descibe how she took to the sudden change in cast. But for Michelle, she could see Carlotta begin to tremble with worry. She and Barlo were relatively close as musical partners.

_"Say the words and I will follow you . . ."_

At first Michelle thought she had been imagining things until she heard the distinct sound of Erik's voice in the words. Christine was playing along, Michelle could see, but she could tell that she had another plan in mind.

_"Christine, that's all I ask of . . . " _

Erik didn't even get a chance to finish the line when Christine snatched his mask away revealing the face that everyone gasped at in fear. Madame Giry paled, others shrieked with fear. Meg cried out with shock. Others were a plain mix of gasps and 'oh my god's.

From the distance she could hear the managers Fierman and Andre screaming at one another about their ruin. But then Michelle heard something else; a cracking and breaking. She looked up, watching as the chandelier came crashing down. The sounds of many people began to echo out, and there was nothing she could do to stop the mess that was unfolding.

She glanced back up at the stage again and saw that Erik and Christine were gone. People were running, and for some reason, Michelle was at a loss for what to do. Raoul raced onto the stage to grab Madame Giry, Meg was at their heels.

She went to them; she had to help.

_"No Meg, you stay here._

Meg pushed back the tides of people who sought to find Christine, as Madame Giry and Raoul raced away. After what was several long moments though Michelle could see Meg lose her ability to hold the tide, and they followed the madame and Raoul shoving Meg off to the side.

Meg was dazed for a moment until Michelle snatched her arm.

"We have to get ahead of the mob of people going down there."

"But how?" Meg asked, "They just took the main way."

"Through our dormatory, Meg."

"But,"

"Come on!"

"What if we're followed?"

"I will not be suprised,"

Meg didn't protest further as they raced around the fire, followed by Carlotta and several other people as they shot through the girl's dormatory. Michelle could hear the distinct sound of the people behind her and Meg, as she opned the door.

"How long have you known about this door?" Meg asked as they pushed ahead of the others.

"A long time-since Erik and I met."

Meg didn't say anything as they went further into the hall and to the staircase. She glanced down over the side.

"Where is Raoul and mother?"

"They took a different flight of stairs-the ones through Carlotta's room."

"My room?" Carlotta snapped, "Where was that one?"

"Through the mirror."

"How the hell do you know that? Have you been spying on me?"

"No, Carlotta." Michelle was racing down the stairs, "I just know where they are. He showed me once."

"Are there any traps here?" Meg asked. "There are several in the one through the mirror."

"No," Michelle answered, "I have used these stairs enough I would have found them by now if there were."

The footsteps faded slightly behind them as if officers were turning back to warn the others about the traps.

Meeg noticed it as well and paused.

"Keep moving!" Carlotta snapped, her tear stained back nearly ashen by the heavy make-up she had been wearing.

They made their way to the bottom, and to the water. There was a chaotic sound of voices and breaking glass, and Michelle feared they were too late. It was not that she wanted Erik back in her life, but death was one thing she didn't wish on him. Even if he was chasing after a love that could never come to be.

Michelle waded through the shallows closely followed by the others, as silence pierced their ears from beyond.

Were they too late?

Michelle held back as they reached the entrance, the others pushing ahead. Memories flooded back at her that she hadn't anticipated.

Forcing them away, she looked about the landing; the boat was gone, and the mirrors were shattered. As she made it to shore, she saw Meg head for the far end of the domain; the bedchamber.

Carlotta stared at the manequin of Christine.

"What sick joke is this?"

"He loved Christine," Michelle answered, her eyes scanning the landing trying to figure out what had happened.

The others who had followed them or those who were just arriving, stared at the landing in some shock. Whisperes and questions began to arise about who this person was, and what was he doing here. Michelle knew there would be an investigation.

Meg returned holding Erik's white mask and Christine's costume from Don Juan.

"So, what was Christine wearing?" Carlotta asked suspiciously.

"A wedding dress probably," Michelle answered noticing the broken glass everywhere, her fingers picking up a flowered veil.

"Why?"

"Love," Meg answered, dropping the costume, as Michelle dropped the veil.

Others seemed less certain tearing things off the walls, picking things up from the ground to take back to the surface.

"Hey-no vandilizing!" snapped an officer who signaled for the others to force away the people who clutched to evidence.

"Meg!" Madame Giry entered from the same place Meg and Michelle had entered, "I told you to stay above."

"Mother, we had to help," Meg answered.

"Raoul and Christine have been spotted above returning to his home. We do not need to be here anymore." she made certain the last statement came out towards people who were not named Meg or Michelle.

"What about the culprit?" asked the officer.

"I saw him above also-headed north."

"What's north?" the officer asked.

"Christine's father."

The chief of the officers signaled and everyone hurried out to catch the 'monster'.

Carlotta stood near Michelle for a momant longer then followed the authorities.

When everyone had left, Meg looked to her mother confused, "You lied to the officer."

Madame Giry looked to her and to Michelle, "Yes, I did."

"Why?"

"They will kill him if they find him." she paused, "I don't want him killed. But he cannot stay here or in Paris any longer. He must flee." she turned her attention to Michelle, "You were his last guest amongst the three of us; this place has changed since I was here. Where would he go?"

Michelle shook her head in confusion, her eyes stared at the glass.

Meg was still holding the mask, "How did Christine and Raoul get out?"

Madame Giry glanced the about, "The boat's not here; this place has a direct route to the river. They probably took the boat and left."

"No way Raoul would left Erik join them." Meg countered.

"No. He is here." Madame Giry paused, "There is no other safe exit."

_The glass . . . from mirrors_.

Michelle walked along the desk staring at the things that were not taken, picking up something that shocked her; a yellow velvet rose.

She dropped it back onto the desk, unknowing of what to do.

"Michelle?" Madame Giry asked.

Then she saw the candle holder on the floor in front of a curtain.

She turned back to the others, "I know where he is,"

"Good," Madame Giry answered, "Get him-we must get him out of town before the authorities return to do a thurough sweep of this place."

"They have to put out the fires first," Meg mentioned.

Madame Giry nodded, "I know," she paused, "Go Michelle,"

Michelle nervously turned from the others and knowing no one was there, besides Meg and Madame Giry, pulled the last curtain away and ducked through the broken door.

Her head spun with a thousand screams still, but her mind was reeling back claiming that this was a horrible move.

_I am not crawling back to him. I am helping him live._ she convinced herself, but the fact that he still had her rose sent mixed emotions through her.

_I do not love Erik like I did, but I do not love Alexi like I did Erik._

She forced her mind to go silent when she heard him, some paces onwards.

"So, you've come to have a last laugh at the monster have you?" His voice shook with heartbreak.

"No," Michelle answered as calmly as she could.

"Why are you here? I told you to never come back,"

"I came to help you, Erik." she entered a new chamber that she was not aware of, no where as well lit as the main chamber, but there was some light, "Won't you come out?"

He did, his hair a mess, face flushed with tears and redness.

"How do you plan on helping me?" his voice was torn.

"Getting you out of this place. The autorities will return soon to investigate this place further."

"'Return'? How did you manage to get them out?"

"I didn't. Meg and Madame Giry are out there waiting."

"That's not what I asked."

"Madame Giry told them that you went to the cemetary-to Christine's father."

He nodded, "A wise lie,"

Michelle nodded.

"So where is your pet, Michelle? This Alexi?"

She dropped her gaze, "I told him not to come to this performance."

"Why? Did you not like what we made?"

"I did," she answered, "I had no wish though for him to be here at your triumph."

"You fear him seeing your emotions?"

She dropped her head in shame, and turned to face the only candle to light the chamber.

"We must return to Madame Giry and Meg."

He came closer, "You didn't want the price to see your emotions return to a monster," he smirked, "It's flattering."

Michelle took a step back, "You know nothing, Erik."

"Oh, but you have just shown me everything, Michelle. After breaking your heart, and ruining your chances for a proper companion by bearing you with child, you still care." his expression softened by his dark humor as if his soul was listening to what he was telling her, "I am sorry." pausing, "I am thankful the three of you are here to help me escape."

"Then let's go."

"I am frightened." he said almost too quickly after her answer.

"Why?"

"I haven't been outside since that one nigh-the one I shared with you. I know nothing about the real world beyond this."

"Madame Giry will help you with that." she said flatly, unsure if this had been the right move.

"What will you do now?"

"Live, Erik. That's what I plan to do-with or without help from a man." she paused, "Come on."

She could feel Erik watch her as she turned back, and there was silence behind her for a moment until she heard his footsteps close behind her.

They reached the other side, and back into the light.

Michelle held back, as Erik went to Madame Giry. Her breath coming in short deep breaths.

Meg noticed her standing to one side, "Michelle?"

"I'm fine,"

Meg looked at her with doubt, but knew better than to inquire further with her with Erik so near.

"I have packed some essentials, Erik." Madame Giry said handing Erik a well packed set of supplies.

"Change of clothes, currency, food, water," Erik listed them to himself rumaging through the bag, then looked up at Madame Giry, "I need to change if we are to do this."

"Yes," she answered.

He set the bag near the desk, and went off to his chambers.

Meg turned her attention back to Michelle, "You two were there for a while."

"A small bickering," Michelle answered, color returning to her face. She head dreaded Erik's accusations, knowing them all to be true, yet it hurt so much to confess them.

"A bickering?" Madame Giry asked, a brow rose with consern.

"Yes," Michelle answered, "He can tell you sometine if he wishes,"

Madame Giry turned to face the water, "This was never what I had planned for him."

"Mother, you couldn't have known." Meg stood beside her mother.

Madame Giry smiled for a brief moment, "I know."

They stood about in silence, until Erik returned, well dressed, and wearing a prosthetic mask that matched his skin tone to hide his deformity. The full 'clear' complexion of Erik was charming, but for some reason Michelle prefered him without the disguise.

_Don't you dare think that way now,_ she insisted to herself.

He was carrying the music box with the monkey on top, and handed it to Michelle.

"For our child,"

Michelle swallowed, holding it carefully in her hands like a baby bird, her eyes locked on his for a brief moment, and for only a moment did she see the Erik she once knew.

Erik turned away, picked up the bag Madame Giry had packed, slipping the mask Meg held and a diamond ring into the bag, and started to close it. They watched as he paused, and not looking at anyone, slid Michelle's rose into the bag, sealing it, and slinging it over his shoulder.

Madame Giry took Erik's arm, "Come; let us arrange for your departure."

He nodded, following her. Meg and Michelle in tow behind them.

They returned through the girl's dormatory, where the fire had not touched. Michelle paused placing the music box onto the table beside her bed, and followed onwards. They went through a series of hallways that weren't damaged to the back exit of the building, where they reined horses to a carriage, and with Madame Giry driving, the four left the opera house.

"You're going back?" Erik asked Michelle when they were moving. Meg and Michelle on one side, Erik and his bag on the other.

She nodded, "My life is there until something else comes around."

"But,"

"My life is not important tonight, Erik. I do not wish to discuss it further."

"What about," Meg turned to Michelle.

"Alexi will have to deal with it, or leave." Michelle answered. Her voice on the edge of bitterness, recalling the bickered truth between her and Erik in the secret chamber.

She nodded, and didn't ask further.

"Where will you be going?" Erik asked Meg.

"I will return to the opera house for a bit, help clean up the mess, but I think I will be finding a place with mother outside the opera house. Away from Paris that is."

They all sat in silence for a while again, until the carriage was out of town, and headed west towards the sea.

"Where is Anne taking me?" Erik asked.

"I don't know," Meg answered glancing out the window.

Michelle shrugged, her mind blank.

**((^^^))** ^^-``~''-^^**

It was midday following that tragic night when they reached the coast, near a port. The passengers had fallen asleep at somepoint during the trip. Michelle awoke first staring straight out into the sea. Erik was next; Meg was awoken by Madame Giry when the carriage stopped several hours later.

Madame Giry was clearly exhausted, and Michelle couldn't help but wish things were different. The night had been a blur but it had also been one of those nights she would never forget. They all climbed out of the carriage overlooking the sea, gulls crying overhead.

"Why are we here?" Meg asked.

"Erik will take a ship for America. I have friends there who will house him until I arrive. I will not ask you to come with me Meg."

"I will come," she said without hesitance.

Madame Giry turned her attention to Michelle, "You have done well, Michelle. More than I would have expected in fact. Thank you,"

Michelle nodded without speaking; Sleep hadn't rested her mind, leaving her body restless and tired.

Madame Giry turned back to Erik, taking his arm, "You and I should go get your ticket-the ship leaves port in an hour."

He nodded, pulling out her grasp gently, "In a moment." he embraced Meg, "I'll see you soon, Meg,"

Meg embraced him, "Soon enough, Erik."

He turned to face Michelle, who didn't expect any good-bye. They stared at one another for a long moment, then he in turn closed their gap, embracing Michelle.

"Good-bye, Michelle. We'll meet again someday. You're going to make a great mother,"

Suddenly Michelle couldn't control herself, and she began to cry. She felt his lips brush across the top of her head, a finger tipping her chin up.

"Be strong Michelle, for the both of us."

Meg came and took Michelle in her arms, as Erik turned picking up his bag and left, without looking back.


	17. Chapter 17

Michelle returned to the opera house with Meg and Madame Giry. It was clear that she was going to live alone for a while, but for some reason, the idea of being independent didn't bother her much. She just hoped that someone would be there to help her when Erik's child did come.

The building was a total disaster in nearl every wing save the dormatories, several storage units, and two of the practice theaters. The rest would need some help.

Misseur Andre and Fierman were there gathering their things as the three women entered.

"Ah, back from the chaos I see," Misseur Andre began.

"Indeed, we are." Meg answered.

"We are leaving the opera buisness," Misseur Fierman remarked, "putting this wreak up for market though is going to be tough, especially after what happened last night."

"How much is this place worth?" Madame Giry asked.

"Now?" Misseur Andre asked, "Nothing. Flat out nothing; no one is going to want this accursed wreak."

"I'll take it," Michelle blurted before she could think on what it was she was saying.

Everyone looked to her shocked or confused.

"Michelle, you should leave," Meg suggested with some insistance, "There is nothing for you here."

Misseur Fierman dug the keys out of his pocket eager to be rid of the place.

"Michelle," Madame Giry began, "This place will be a burden on you, think about this."

Misseur Andre was drawing up the sales contracts ignoring everyone.

"I have nothing outside this place," Michelle answered, "No money since my last paycheck, and there is nothing outside these four walls that can watch over me and my cargo without criticism."

"What about that fellow . . . Alexi?" Misseur Fierman asked as he handed her the keys.

She shrugged. They hadn't spoken for a while; once since the dinner date, but it had only briefly. She had told him not to go to Don Juan. He had listened to her, but she had no idea on how to contact him if she needed anything. She had been a receiver of his messages, not a sender.

"I'll contact him, if necessary."

"Michelle," Meg said in a pleading tone, "Don't shut yourself out by staying here. Please do me a favor and travel. When Madame Giry and I return we want to hear that you have done some life outside this place."

"I won't." she answered calmly, "I do wish to see some of the world."

Madame Giry nodded, "What will you do with this place?"

"Rebuild it-if I can." she paused, "Perhaps teach with the two practice wings that are still good." she paused hesitant as she began to mentally register what it was she was about to embark on.

"Very good," Misseur Andre answered, the contract written, "If you'll sign here, we'll turn it in for you, and this place is yours for no charge-we don't want to worry about this place anymore."

"What about the investigations?" Madame Giry asked.

"Apparently, the Viscount and his bride to be decided not to lay charges upon the kidnapper. He's wanted for the death of the people who were trampled or killed from the crashing chandelier, but there was nothing to catch at the cemetary. They left the search for the night, and will scour the place again and continue north. People are claiming to have seen him head for jolly ol' England."

"And for Barlo?"

"We haven't heard anything on that-you probably won't while the phantom is being hunted."

Michelle signed the papers.

"Very good," the misseur remarked, "Here is your last paycheck from doing Don Juan."

"Best of luck," Misseur Fierman remarked shaking her hand, and grabbing his box of posessions, heading for the door. Missuer Andre took the contract and was soon on his tail.

The women watched them leave through the front door then turned back to Michelle.

"Are you sure you want to do this? You can still back out of it." Madame Giry offered.

"I will be fine."

Madame Giry nodded, "Very well. Shall we inform Alexi for you?"

"No," Michelle answered, "I will find him soon enough. I just need some time alone-there's been enough man in my life for a while."

Meg grinned, "We'll write you often while in America." she embraced Michelle.

"Go get your things, Meg." Madame Giry said in a polite tone.

When Meg left, Madame Giry embraced her, "You're going to do well, Michelle." she pulled away, "Meg is right, we'll write you often." she paused, "Come visit us. Don't let the things that happened here hold you back, Michelle."

Michelle nodded, "Good bye Madame Giry."

"Good bye Michelle," she paused, pulling out a page of paper from her pocket, "Alexi's contact information. I got it after A Midsummer Night's Dream finale when he was accompanying Raoul." she turned and went off towards the girls dormatory to check on Meg. They would drop into Madame Giry's office before leaving and then they would be gone.

Michelle would be truly alone.

Or so she thought.

The following days consisted of people coming, gathering their things, and going. It made a lot of movement happen, and then when they were gone, then she had nothing, except what posessions were hers, and the things people hadn't come back for yet.

She turned to her biggest issue; the cleaning of the opera house. She knew there was no way to get everything clean, but then again she had her life to whittle away until she was ready to face life again.

She could only do so much though presently. She was with child, she reminded herself, placing her hand over the swell that had begun to grow over the last month. There would come a point when making this place clean would be something she was incapable for doing for a short while.

_But that is four months from now,_ she reminded herself, pulling a mop and bucket from the closet and setting to work in the library, several rags in hand already. The only sound was her footsteps as she crossed buildings.

Footsteps that only echoed back what she was doing.

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Carlotta put out her cigarette and entered the opera house that had stolen her musical partner Barlo. It had been a month since that frightful night, but now she came to gather her things.

The building was empty, which she had expected. There was a dark earieness that came with burnt and abandoned buildings. She sighed walking through the linoleum coridoors, seeing the ashen floors around her and the burnt walls.

This place should be destroyed.

She entered the dormatory and went to her old chest. Carlotta had moved out ages ago, but she had left some things behind. She picked through the drawers carefully, placing what was left of her things away into a bag. She would check her old sopranna room as well-see if anything hadn't burnt.

How she missed Barlo.

How creepy this empty opera house was.

As she left the dormatories, and headed for her old hideaway, she jumped hearing a sound; running water.

She turned towards the sound.

_There are no such things as ghosts, Carlotta. There is no such thing. The phantom was a myth made up-a figment of my imagination._

But even as she walked towards the noise, she could hear other things as well.

The rubbing of brushes against hard surfaces, she guessed.

_There is no such thing as ghosts!_

She peeked her head into the doorway where the origin of the noise was coming from-the dining comons.

She didn't see anything at first then she saw in the corner something she wasn't expecting.

Michelle Le'Clair'e.

"What are you doing?" Carlotta said in a loud tone.

Michelle jumped whirling in midair, despite her swelling body and turned to face her.

"Carlotta, you just about gave me a heart attack!"

"Yes, well I tend to be one for giving heart attacks to people. Again I ask 'what are you doing'?"

"Cleaning,"

"Why?"

"Because this is my property now."

"You can't even afford to buy shoes." she pointed out.

"What's your point?"

"Why clean this dump up?"

"Because broken things can be rebuilt,"

"Right-like your relationship with Erik,"

"Did you come here for a reason, Carlotta? Or are you just here to hackle me?"

"Truth? I came to get what was left of mine."

"Do you have it all?"

"Most of it-I need to check out my old office."

"Then you should go do that,"

Carlotta felt ready to give Michelle more bickering, but turned on her heel without a word, and went off to find her old office.

Nothing in the room was untouchd by fire. Everything was ashes, her jewelry was blackened by fire, but not melted though.

_Maybe Michelle has something to clean these-it'll give me an excuse to heckle her again._

She gathered up what she could salvage, and returned to the dining hall.

"You're back," Michelle remarked scarastically, propped up on two chairs facing eachother.

"And you're not working." Carlotta answered.

"What do you want now?" Michelle didn't move from her sitting position.

"Oh, nothing really-I was wondering however, if you had anything here to clean jewelry."

"You can check the closets-I haven't gone through all the cleaning supplies."

"Really?" this shocked Carlotta for some reason.

"What do you really want?"

Carlotta sat down across the table from Michelle, "To really know why you chose to stay here. There's no company, and it has to cost a fortune just to do what you are doing now."

"I get by well enough."

"Please; co-directing Don Juan didn't pay that much to anyone-my check sucked in compare to my regular ones."

"Yes but you weren't the star." she waved her fingers about on th word star.

"Oh, come on-I've done supporting roles before; you were there for them, remember?"

Michelle shrugged.

"Now answer my original question; why keep this place."

"It's not permanent," Michelle stated, "I just needed some time away from reality. The managers just handed me the keys without hesitation or payment. I just need time alone without men to get a grip on my life. What I want to do with this life."

"Right, well not much in about three months."

Michelle dropped her gaze to her swell, "I look forward to ending my career as a cacoon."

Then Carlotta had an idea.

"So no men in your life? Not even Alexi?"

"I will go to him when I am ready-he said he would wait."

"'He would wait'? For how long?"

She shrugged.

"Look, I have had a brilliant thought talking with you."

"You call this talking?"

"Oh shut up," she grinned, "I am rolling in gold rich, single, and I am not going to get a job anyime soon thanks to your precious phantom Erik."

"Your point?"

"You're going to need someone around soon thanks to your mysterious ghost. Let me hang around and I will be there for you when you need someone to help with the delivery."

"'Hang around'?" Michelle repeated.

"Yeah, we can together do all sorts of things with this place,"

"Why hang here with me?"

"Because I want to," she paused, thinking over why it was she was really wanting to stay.

Michelle could see her thinking and held her tongue.

_Thank God!_

"I have things to repent for obviously-I don't know why you didn't press charges against my father and I-don't get me wrong, I am glad you didn't but I feel like I should make it up to you now by helping you with your quest to fix this place up."

"Think you should have stuck with the 'I want to' gag."

Carlotta turned for the door, things in hand.

"Wait," Michelle called out.

Frustrated with the bickering, Carlotta turned on her heal to face her red-headed companion.

"What?"

"Stay," she had risen and walked to her, "I could use the feminine company."

"You sure?" she toyed with Michelle, "Because I can leave,"

"No-please I can use the company, and I don't want to go through the whole giving birth thing alone."

"Why not call Alexi?"

"When the time comes for the birth?"

"Yeah,"

Michelle shook her head, and gestured for them to sit again.

Carlotta did so, puzzled by why she didn't want Alexi with her when the contractions began.

"I don't want to say yes to having him here when that happens. I don't know him enough."

"You mean you don't know if you can trust him despite all the vows and promises he gave you."

Michelle nodded.

"Look, have the kid without him, see if he still wants you two when it's two separate things; one that can crap on itself and the other up half the night calming from it's infant nightwets." she paused, noticing she had amused Michelle with her sarcastic namecalling, "If he still wants you then jump on the opportunity, otherwise someone else will come along. Deal?"

Michelle nodded.

"Good, now partner, let's get our hands dirty."


	18. Chapter 18

Michelle appreciated Carlotta' company despite her annoying sarcastic remarks over the following weeks, their hands blistering from moving everything; arms sore from moving in repeated gestures until shelves or floors were polished.

"I never thought I would do maid work," Carlotta remarked, as she rose to light up a cigarette near an open window.

"None of us did," Michelle answered, rising from scrubbing tiles on the floor to stretch her back. Despite Carlotta smoking, Michelle never felt like taking a puff, and hadn't had a drink of alcohol since working with Erik.

Erik . . .

She didn't miss him much these days the work distracted her and with Carlotta around, she had someone to talk to other than herself. The dark eerie opera house wasn't so scary with a rich sarcastic girl to face it with her.

But still when she was completely alone-when Carlotta went out for supplies, she felt the weight of the choices she made. Could things had gone differently if she had never spoken to Erik that night in the dormatory? That was inevitable. Future encounters? Avoidable.

In the end, she had relived her relationship with Erik through logic but was unable to tell herself that it was all alright in the end.

"You seriously need a man. After you have the child that is." Carlotta remarked when she returned from the city to see Michelle scrubbing a tile almost through it's glossy finish to think of something other than her past.

Michelle shook her head.

"Guess what I heard today out in the streets?" Carlotta asked in a gossip friendly tone.

"What?"

"Christine's pregnant,"

Michelle's brow rose; "Really?"

"Yeah," Carlotta nodded, as they shuffled the supplies into the dining commons-their homeroom for food, socializing, and supplies. Putting cleaning stuff in the closet only to get it back out in an hour or so was pointless.

"Does it make you feel better that she was less responcible for not waiting to be a little older to have kids?"

"Do you want kids Carlotta?"

"My question first my dear."

"Not really-I feel that if her and Raoul are seriously ready then good for them," the last part came out sarcastically.

"So no?"

"No; they haven't experienced enough life yet."

"And you have?"

"No, but I would have hoped they had a more eventful life than I."

Carlotta smirked, "So valiant, Michelle."

"My question," she countered.

"I don't want kids . . ." Carlotta began, "Because I don't want to lose my figure, and have no wish for such responcibilities."

"Well, staying here might put a damper on the latter part of that answer."

Carlotta shrugged, "Well, you're not a man."

"No?" she grinned.

"No; men like romance and all . . . and then they want marriage and kids."

"Is that why you don't go home?"

"No-I am divorcing; I want the single life where I am adored by all; not by one."

Michelle nodded, "You won't get all love at once here."

Tipping her head to the side Carlotta answered, "So long as I am able to be involved in the theater and the love of the public eye, I don't have a problem hiding in the shadows for a while."

"Could be a long while,"

"Oh, shut up Michelle," she was giggling, but they both knew that it was the truth.

_It would be a VERY long while_.

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Thunder boomed above the opera house-a late spring storm was here, and Carlotta was not sure why she had done this. They hadn't fought at all, but it would happen-it was inevitable; Carlotta always had a fight. She had no parents, a empty apartment, and two exes. She had dogs to keep her company but they didn't talk back.

Nor did they argue with her.

Life was nice that way.

But now she was here with no dogs, and no apartment.

She was in a dorm

With a woman carrying a bastard child.

A woman who should hate her guts, but permited her to be a companion here at the opera house.

_WHY?_

Could it be that she had forgiven her?

_There has to be another reason._

Carlotta watched the sky flash above her, the thunder followed not long after. Michelle moaned at the rumble but didn't awaken.

She hadn't told her father to kill Herriott-or Michelle. She just wanted to be sopranna.

Perhaps she tortured herself too much over this, but deep down Carlotta knew that she was the true one at fault, and by staying and helping Michelle, she might repent for what she did.

Carlotta rolled over and pulled the covers closer to her head, recalling that she had to pay her pet sitter in the morning.

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Michelle leaned over a counter scrubbing smoke stains in the main bathroom when she heard Carlotta come in behind her.

"Can we talk?"

"We always do," Michelle answered, but she turned away from the counter and looked at her buisness partner, "What's going on?"

"I wanted to appoligize,"

"For taking off to take care of your dogs? I don't care about that-you could bring them here if you liked."

Carlotta brightened but for only a brief moment.

"No, Michelle." she paused, "I think deep down you know why I have to say I am sorry."

Michelle knew without being reminded. She had dreaded Carlotta staying there in the oepra house with her for a while, fearing that something might happen, until she convinced herself that Carlotta was nothing without her father.

But this was a shock.

"You wanted the job-it's fine." But even Michelle knew her tone was off to sound forgiving.

"No, it's not; what I did was wrong. I never understood why you didn't try and turn us in. You could have. Everyone would have voutched for you."

Michelle didn't answer-she couldn't vocalize the truth.

"Why didn't you do something?" Carlotta insisted becoming irriated.

"I feared you. I feared your father. I didn't want to see him again." she paused feeling herself become upset with this topic, "I never wanted to see you either, but I moved on, Carlotta."

"Why?"

"Because I had no where else to go." she snapped back, "Every day for years I looked at you as the murderer of Herriott, and I hated you."

"Everyone did," Carlotta's tone becoming defensive.

"But Herriott was innocent."

"So was I-I had a career to look out for; mine! I needed to stay. My father would have sent me to a whorehouse if I returned from here. Do you think you're the only one bound to this place? No one misses this place but they come back to it for the reasons that brought us here." she paused to inhale, "But my father is dead, but I keep staying here because I am afraid of him at night."

"He's dead."

"And Erik doesn't live here anymore. What's the point of staying? Afraid that you might miss him if he returns? If he gave one rat's ass about you he would have never persued Christine." Carlotta paused, lighting a cigarette, "Fuck Christine. She took my sopranna life away."

Michelle had lost being angry as soon as Carlotta said the name 'Erik'. She felt herself suddenly question the issues at hand.

_Why did I really take this place back?_

Carlotta seemed to have read her mind, "But you know, she took _our_ lives away, but I think the fact that you and I are the new caretakers of this place is going to be good for the two of us. At least until we know what it is that we really want to do."

Michelle nodded, but she deep down was wondering if this was the place she wanted to be in the years to come.

Did she want to raise her child here?

Michelle returned to what she had been doing.

"I am sorry for picking a fight. I just wanted to appoligize for my actions before."

She turned again to face Carlotta, "It's okay; I am glad that you have sought forgiveness." she paused, "Thank you, Carlotta."

She grinned, and walked across the room to Michelle to embrace her.

"You're welcome." she paused briefly.

"What's that?"

"Can I be your kid's aunt?"

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The months closed in on Michelle to the point where her hard work was becoming less and less. Her body became tired more quickly than normal as the cleaned the opera house. Carlotta had reduced their laboring so she could attend to Michelle when it was required.

For those hours when they weren't working, they sifted through old files in the untouched stroage rooms. The records were old, things that could be trashed without hesitation, however there were some that were worth saving; old blue-prints and scale maps of the opera house.

Michelle slept more also as her "due-date" came. Neither one was sure why she did, but it was obvious that the child was reering to make it's grand debut when her first premature contractions came-false alarms, but it still was staining for both of them.

"We are going to have to send you to a medical center when the time comes," Carlotta remarked when one of these episodes ended.

Michelle knew the Carlotta was right; there was no way she could have the child here with the opera house's current condition, plus neither one of them had any medical training.

Nodding, Michelle shuffled to the bathroom near the dormatory, with Carlotta at her side to help her if she tripped.

That night Michelle didn't sleep, and it wasn't because of the child, but rather the idea if Carlotta was her only source of companionship for the years to come. The idea was nice, but not what she really wanted.

_What do I want?_

Family she already had now with this child within, and Carlotta becoming a sister.

_The child boy or girl should have a father. _

_Not immediatly,_ she decided, _but soon._

Michelle stared out into the darkness knowing that if she wanted to take any chance at love that Alexi was still waiting for her, but how long would he wait?

_I will contact him after the child is born,_ she decided debating carefully what to do about her own life.

There came an afternoon not too long after that where as she and Carlotta shuffled through another box and hauled it out to the dumpsters, Michelle staggered, her share of the trash for the trash bins outside swayed with her jagged movement.

Carlotta heard her misstep, craining her head back over her shoulder to check on Michelle.

"Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Michelle answered, but as soon as her trash was in the bins, she knew that she wasn't as she turned away, a warm liquid slid down her leg.

"Carlotta . . . it's time. I have to go,"


	19. Chapter 19

Symon was born some sixteen desperate hours, after she arrived with Carlotta to the hospital weighting in at seven pounds ten ounces. Sweat soaked red locks clung to her face as she stared at the little dark haired angel in her arms. All the fears Erik had had for the child were not there; the child was prefect in every way.

Carlotta had retreated to the waiting room some hours earlier but when the child was cleaned and the cord cut, she came in to see their newst member of their makeshift family.

"He's adorable, Michelle."

Michelle knew so, and knew that Erik would have been proud-wherever he was now.

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They returned to the opera house several days later, moving in Carlotta's two toy poodles in as well, who took such a fondness to Symon, that they slept next to the makeshift cot Michelle had made next to her bed for him. Michelle guessed the dogs were her compensating for not having kids, but she adored Symon, nearly as much as Michelle did. They didn't dive back into heavy labor yet, but spent the days pouring over the rest of the old boxes, of paperwork and records. When those were gone, they restored what they were keeping, and began doing research into hiring people into the opera house to replace the broken windows and damages to the roof. It wasn't hard; there were skilled people who needed a job that applied to their skill set.

Calrotta incouraged though that until the roof and windows were replaced they lived in her spacious apartment. It was something that Michelle was willing to do for both Symon and herself. Especially when she saw how spacious her apartment was, despite being filled with fluff and colors.

"You have a nice place,"

"Well, it's ours until you get back into the dating scene." she flopped onto her couch.

"A while from now," Michelle reminded her.

"Right-until the kid is off mother's milk, I get it. But you know, I think Alexi isn't going to care whether or not he's off your breast yet. Hell, he might-,"

Michelle was laughing before Carlotta could finish her dirty little joke.

"You see what I mean though?" Carlotta asked.

Michelle nodded, "I do,"

"Good," she paused, grinning broadly, "In fact I think you might want to send him a letter. Just go out for tea or coffee, and see how things go. You told me that you would contact him once Symon was born."

Michelle didn't speak; nerves had her gut for the moment, and Carlotta knew it.

"He's not Erik. Just write Alexi. Hell, he can come here and deal with my bull shit if it would please you better. I just can't stand seeing you alone."

"You're with me," Michelle pointed out.

"Yes, well, I would like to start dating again as well. I am a rich and beautiful woman; I need a man I can slap a leash on-just like my dogs." she winked.

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She had waited another month before writing, at first uncertain if or what to say followed with to what extent. However, Alexi came the day following Michelle's letter. Michelle was shocked when he arrived with a small bouquet of roses. Carlotta answered the door and permitted for him to enter, gesturing for him to enter her parlor, where Michelle was holding Symon who had just settled into an afternoon nap.

"I had heard that you had given birth," he mused joining her on a couch, "He's quite the charmer,"

Michelle smiled, tired from late night changing, and patient pacing waiting for the child to fall asleep again.

"What is his name?"

"Symon," she answered.

"A good name," he answered, still holding the roses. Carlotta joined them, with a water filled vase for the roses.

"Thank you," Michelle countered as he placed the fowers in the vase.

Alexi grinned-one of those ones that could take the tarnish off just about everything.

"Are you alright? You look exhausted,"

"She's tired." Carlotta answered, "Symon wakes her up every night for a changing, and affection."

Michelle nodded in agreement, "Indeed-he take a while to fall asleep at night."

"Takes after you, Michelle." Carlotta remarked, a cocky grin growing.

Michelle threw her a look, but Alexi was grinning as well, his eyes locked on Symon. Michelle noticed.

"Is something wrong?"

"No," he answered, "Nothing at all." he paused looking up into her eyes, "Can I hold him?"

It was Carlotta's turn to throw a look at Michelle though this one was for being clearly impressed, rather than Michelle's previous _shut-up_ look.

She reached out carefully making sure that Symon wouldn't fall out of her hands and placed them in his. Symon didn't stir, as he shifted in Alexi's arms to be more comfortable.

"Think he likes you," Carlotta smirked, flashing a smile to Michelle.

"Where is Liam and Elma?" Michelle asked Carlotta noticing that there hadn't been any barking since Alexi's arrival.

"They're in my room. They probably didn't hear him come in. No worries-if Symon wakes up, I'll let them out."

Alexi threw her a cocky grin, "Doubt that." he paused, "Who is Liam and Elma?"

"They're my doggies," Carlotta answered, "Two toy poodles."

"Quite the handful."

Michelle nodded.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Michelle asked suddenly having forgotten her proper house manners.

"No, I am fine. Besides, it would mean giving Symon back." his attention back to the child who's head now rested up against his heart.

"If I recall, that letter said you were going to take him out though," Carlotta corrected Michelle.

Michelle began to hesitate when Alexi answered, "We can stay here for today-if that suites you, madame."

"It's fine by me, so long as you don't try anything." she winked at Michelle.

"Of course,"

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Their first letter from the Americas reached them the following day from Madame Giry.

_Dear Michelle;_

_How are things out there in France? Has your child arrived yet? What's it like? _

_We made it to the Americas on the next shipment out of town and ended up in Boston where Erik met up with us, and we now travel to New York. We expect to find some work here but based on Boston, the idea is somewhat doubtful. _

_How goes life in the opera house? Do you have help? Have you heard from Alexi?_

_Meg's intending to write also, but she hasn't gotten to it yet. Men flock us, when we are traveling, claiming that Meg is the most beautiful woman that they have seen. Most look like they came out of a sewer somewhere but I am not sure, nor one to judge. _

_Write us back soon my dear-send the response to my cousin Lady Gwendylin Carr in Brooklyn, New York._

_With regards from all three of us,_

_Madame Giry, Meg and Erik._

"What a load of crap," Carlotta remarked when she read the letter after Michelle.

"How so?"

"She's so sincere in this letter it's repulsive. In fact she's hiding something I bet. Meg probably won't write either. "

Michelle shrugged, the letter didn't phase her, as she finished 'burping' Symon.

"I wouldn't write back-not until they decide to write another letter."

"No?"

"No; if they really truly cared about you, they would have spent some time with you to help you organize the reconstruction of the opera house. Instead they left, dumping the whole damn thing in your lap."

Michelle didn't answer; she couldn't blame them, but she wasn't certain if she was happy to have heard from them either; she had gotten along fine without them. Nor could she fully blame Carlotta for how she responded to reading the letter; she had treated the Girys with little respect over the years, so they treated her with little regard as well.

"Michelle, despite whatever these damn letters say, know that Alexi and I have your back. We will always be here for you."

Michelle nodded.

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It was another two months before they heard again from the Girys, a day when Carlotta wasn't but Alexi was. They were in the parlor talking when the door knocked.

Michelle answered it and returned to the parlor where Alexi was giving Symon attention.

Sitting across from the two of them, she pealed open the wax seal and read the letter with care, knowing that Carlotta was not here to tell her not to write.

_My dearest Michelle,_

_We arrived in New York today to find ourselves engulfed with life. It's vibrant and peaceful here at the same time. Meg has suitors at the door day and night it seems, but she hasn't made up her mind. It's nice that she likes staying with me, but if she picks one, then I won't have to worry about who's knocking yet._

_I haven't received a responce; has my previous letter reached you? _

_Erik has gotten his own place across town, and visits on occasion. He asks about you; curious about your child. I think he sometimes regrets his decision to leave Paris. He may write, so be fairly warned._

_Speaking of which, Meg is currently writing a letter for you, and it should be coming on the next shippment. _

_Please write us back, Michelle. We miss and love you dearly._

_With regards,_

_Madame Giry._

Alexi was watching her seeing her thoughts, "How is Madame Giry?"

"She's fine," she handed him the letter.

"It's not my place to read these conversations."

"Please? I usually let Carlotta read them and give me feedback."

"And?"

"She tells me to not write back,"

"Well, that's not what I would say, but," he took the letter and read it carefully, his blue-green eyes scanning over each word, his brows furrowing on the page briefly, then handed her the letter back.

"Well?"

"Well, I don't really think Meg is going to write you; she said she was going to in the last letter. However I don't know much about Erik beyond Symon, but I do hope that if the letter he sends bothers you in any way to come to me about it."

"Should I write back to Madame Giry?"

"I would; be brief if you want. Tell her about Symon, and the opera house's progress-the roof being nearly perfected."

Michelle nodded.

"Today though, it's about you and this princeling," Alexi answered picking up Symon, and moving to the couch Michelle was sitting on.

Michelle didn't need to be told twice, as the child reached out to her eagerly.

Carlotta returned some hour later finding Symon asleep again in her arms, Alexi describing what life was like for him growing up; a Russian migrant family seekign work in France.

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Michelle put Symon to bed late into the night some week or two after the second letter had arrived from America, and decided she was ready to write back.

_Dear Madame Giry, and all who end up reading this;_

_I have received your letters, please do not fret further; life has been busy. I still hold ownership of the opera house, and I am not alone in this task of rebuilding the opera house. I have recently become better aquainted with Carlotta, who has become a buisness partner and friend during these last six grueling months of work. _

_The roof is nearly complete and half of the burnt windows have been restored. It's nice to see a process on occasion when we make our pillage out to check on progress. _

_I have been in touch with Alexi, who come by the apartment Carlotta and I share-often to see how we are, and how my price is._

_Yes, my prince; Symon. Symon has grown much and likes staying up late. I cannot believe that he has grown so much in nearly four months. He was so small at birth. Carlotta and Alexi take to him well. _

_Send my good will to Meg and Erik. It's nice to hear that they are doing well._

_With kind regards,_

_Michelle Le'Clair'e_


	20. Chapter 20

Symon grew fast over the following months to the point that Carlotta encouraged Michelle that she could take care of Symon without supervision.

"Auntie Carlotta here will take care of Symon," she remarked as he sat on her lap, playing with a small plush animal she had bought him a while back, "You and Alexi go out, he deserves a night with you, at least one without Symon."

"But,"

"Symon is a year and a half, Michelle. He can now be bottle fed, and I know how to change a damn diaper; I've watched you do it enough times." she grinned as Symon made one of his huge smiles appear on his face, "Time has flown by, and we haven't heard from the Girys since you sent that one letter out. No one is going to hurt you or Symon here. Liam and Elma will see to that."

Michelle began to hesitate again, "I know that Alexi lovves Symon as if he's his own, but he loves you also-it's obvious. Take tonight's date, and use it to your advantage." she kissed Symon's head.

Defeated by Carlotta's long winded insistence, Michelle dressed nicely to attend her first night without Symon at her side. Alexi was taking her out to a Christmas party his manager was holding. Alexi worked as a book keeper for a five star resturant in Paris. The event was being held at a local community center, which had an outdoor skating rink.

So much time had flown by, Michelle mused as she laced her shoes on. It was a difficult to believe that the three (Carlotta, Alexi, and herself) had so long ago celebrated Symon's first birthday. Symon had no comprehension of why they were celebrating, but it had been a fun event all around.

Carlotta was also right in stating that they hadn't heard from Madame Giry or the others since Michelle had responded to the second letter. Perhaps the mail had been lost at sea, but that was very unlikely.

Christine had a son as well, named Gustave. Apparently one who appreciated music over stuffed animals, but for Michelle she didn't really care when Carlotta had brought her the news.

She had moved on, and for once in a different direction.

_The opera house was taking a better look on as well. The roof and windows had finally been al replaced, and they had hired extra help to clean the high ceilings and walls. Michelle had insisted on retouching the paint herself, which had proven difficult but effective; her eyes keen to color._

_But they hadn't touched the main theatre within the building. They had been refurbushing the lobby, and other parts of the opera house. The kitchens and bathrooms were all restored to their former glory. _

_"So this is what the men's room looks like," Carlotta mused giggling, then they had put the final fixtures in place. _

But now, as she left the building to join Alexi after giving her son a kiss good-bye, and a peck on Carlotta's cheek, she felt old strange sensations reach her mind. Old emotions she had placed away in the back of her mind since taking over the opera house that were starting to take over.

Alexi was waiting for her outside with a horse drawn carriage, as the snow began to fall again.

"It seems that because of the snow, we may be only using the indoor facility of the community center," he informed her once they were inside the carriage and moving.

"I do not mind-I have never skated before, so it is nice to know that I won't make a fool of myself."

"No?"

"No," she answered.

He grinned, "You wouldn't make yourself a fool-I'd be there to help you."

She nodded glancing over her shoulder at the apartment building, where Symon and Carlotta were.

"Did you forget something?" he asked noting her consern.

She blinked, "No," pausing, "It's so strange to go out without my son. I have taken him everywhere with me,"

He answered reassuaringly with, "We'll take him to the next Christmas party my manager decides on having,"

She nodded.

"You're nervous," he observed.

Again, she nodded.

"Why?" he moved so he sat beside her rather than across from her, and took her hand in his.

"It's the first time I have been without anyone but you in nearly two years,"

"And?" he knew this was true-they both did.

"And, I am sorry."

His brow rose, "Why?"

"For making you wait so long." she answered.

"You needed time to come to grips with what you were dealt. I understand, and I am glad you didn't leave me out of it all." he paused this time his eyes cast down to her hand that he held, "And I am glad you took time for yourself before coming for me. You needed the time to just be yourself and heal." he gave her hand a small sqeeze, "Besides I would wait for you, as I told you; as long as it takes."

She smiled briefly as they arrived at the local center, and the driver opened the doors for them. The snow had stopped falling for the time, and it was clear that the rink was open. Michelle felt a small glimmer of hesitation hit her, as he helped her out of the carriage and escorted her inside.

The party was splendid; people were dressed festivly, drinks, music, food, and under the escort of Alexi she wasn't afraid. In fact, she felt confident enough to take her first glass of wine since being pregnant with Symon.

"To the holidays," Alexi toasted clinking his glass with hers, as they watched the festivities.

A portly man walked up to Alexi, "Alex! What a pleasure to see you here!"

"Misseur Hauster, might I present my companion and friend, Michelle Le'Clair'e, the current owner of the Opera Popular." he introduced, "My dear, my manager and friend, Misseur Albert Hauster."

"Madame," the ser kissed her hand politely.

"Ser," she tipped her head in responce doing a small curtsey.

"So the Opera Popular? Are you going to reopen it then?"

"To an extent," Michelle answered, "My buisness partner and I are planning to open it as a school first for those eager to learn the arts."

He nodded his head in approval, "A bright idea. I was a regular attendee to the opera house for years. Do you plan on reopening it to public shows like Misseur Fierman and Misseur Andre did?"

"I hope to, but as my partner and I had discussed, not until we have a regular flow of income from the education first."

"Of course," he sounded unapproving now, "Well, you two have a jolly evening. I have other people to see to. And the rink is open tonight. The snow was not enough to ruin the track."

"Oh good," Alexi answered, and watched as his boss tottled off to see another client.

Michelle watched as well, taking another sip of her one glass of wine.

"Not the most pleasing man," Alexi remarked, having noticed his disapproval as well at the end of the brief conversation.

"Indeed," Michelle answered, watching the small crowd of people mingle.

They stood in silence for a moment, then taking her arm, he brought her into the crowd to meet other people from his work, who unlike the Misseur Hauster, were more pleasant and courtieous. Michelle felt welcome as women began to ask about when the school aspect might open, having considered having their own children attend.

Michelle hadn't worked that detail out yet, but she answered with "In the near future, I hope." each time.

The doors opened for the outdoor rink after she had a short but well liked conversation with the secretary Madame Hauster-Albert's sister.

"Shall we?" Alexi asked gestured to the rink.

Michelle hesitated, "I dunno, I told you that I wasn't educated in this."

"And I told you I would teach you." he grinned taking her hand as they went out, "And I won't let you go out there until you tell me to,"

She still hesitated, but didn't protest, as they were given appropriate shoes, and went to a bench. The idea of learning something new was exciting, but she feared falling and even looking stupid in front of Alexi who took her nerves in stride.

The shoes were easy to lace, not very comfortable in the heel but after rubbing the backs for a moment, they were more tolorable.

As she finished Alexi was already up and took her hands when she tentativly reached out, and like a newborn animal clumsily walked out onto the ice. She felt the cold rush up through the skate and almost jumped by the slickness of the ice. Michelle started to turn to leave, but knowing that doing this could encourage some sort of dissapointment in herself for not trying stopped herself, and waited for her partner to teach her.

Still holding her hand, he moved them out onto the rink further, his movents smooth and Michelle was registering what he was doing quickly, but knew that as soon as she tried it that they would both fall over.

"Are you seeing what I am doing with my feet, Michelle?"

"Yes?"

He moved on the skates so he was skating backwards and facing her, taking her other hand, "Let's try and see if you're feet will cooperate," he grinned broadly.

"Don't let go," she answered, but she was a bit faster as a learner than she had expected, and staggered for a moment, trying to catch herself by leaning forward.

"Careful, my dear," Alexi remarked as she regained her balance.

She stared at him as if this was an insane activity for a moment until she saw how much he was enjoying this. The glow in his eyes made her want to try again.

This time she was able to move more fluidly, her motions still a bit jagged, but she was skating.

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They returned inside after some hour of excitement, where the inside was still a bit empty; most of the others were still out on the rink. Michelle han't fallen, and he had called her a natural, but she claimed it was his teaching.

She poured herself a hot cup of cider, feeling the cold having touched her fingers, but she was able to recover quickly. She enjoyed this night more than she had expected. They enjoyed more conversational talk with other members of his work, but then she knew that she was ready to go home, back to Symon and Carlotta.

"Of course," he answered noticing that indeed the hour had grown late, "Carlotta won't be upset will she?"

"Not at all," Michelle answered recalling the conversation that had taken place before she had left.

"Good," he said as they walked out to his charriot, holding an unused mug of hot cider for the driver, "You could have come inside Stan,"

The driver shrugged, taking the mug, "It was okay out here. Got to watch you two dance on the ice. Not too bad for your first time, madame."

Michelle tipped her head in some embarassment.

Alexi helped her into the carriage, and closed the door behind them. The carriage movign moments after.

There was a brief moment of silence as they moved, "Thank you for bringing me with you,"

"Thank you for coming, Michelle. It was nice to see you out." his face was slightly red from the cold.

She removed her hands from her gloves to see that they were red from being out on the ice, but slid them back into the gloves to retain what heat was left.

"Michelle?"

"Yes?"

"Can I speak frankly with you?"

"I would have you do nothing less," she answered.

He bit his lip as if whatever it was he was going to say was important, "Since I saw you that night in the finale of 'A Midsummer Night's Dream', I have been enraptured by you, and being by your side to watch Symon grow has made that enrapturement grow. I have been in love with you since. More than I had ever thought possible. I don't know how you feel, but I am hoping that you might feel the same. And after tonight, it felt so normal and natrual for you to be at my side-I really didn't want this night to end."

Michelle sared into his eyes nerves hitting her in every way she hadn't hoped would hit her.

_What do I do? _

_He's not Erik,_ Carlotta's voice was in her head.

He was sitting beside her, his hands in hers, waiting.

She fidgeted with her gloves again, undoing them from their fabric casings, and with one exposed hand reached up and touched his face, palm to cheek. She scootched closer and without another thought let herself give into the kiss she knew he was ready to give.

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She entered the apartment as soon as the carriage arrived not followed within, and set her gloves and coat on the hooks just inside the door. It was not far past midnight, but Carlotta was up, having a late night smoke and grinned with her teasing wickedness that was of positive attributes.

"So, how was it? Spill some news over to your dear roommate,"

"Pleasant," she answered.

"And Alexi?"

"Amazing."

"Good . . . you're holding out on me," she was eager, "What happened?"

"I am in love, I think Carlotta."

"To Alexi, yes?"

"Who else," she felt the guilty grin grow into a smile.

"Oh!" Carlotta jumped from the window, after putting out her ciggarette to embrace her friend, "I am so pleased to hear this!"

They were giggling, and Michelle didn't know what could stop it.

"And it's about time," Carlotta remarked, "He's been here at least once a week to see how you and Symon are." she moved to a cabinet and poured herself a small sifter of brandy, then poured a second for Michelle. "To commemerate this night,"

They toasted and drank, "How is Symon?"

"Sound asleep. He's been out for a few hours. He should wake up again in a couple hours for the ritual changing." she grinned, "I am really happy for you Michelle."

She was glowing recalling their one kiss. Remembering how her skin awakened and prickled at the touch, the satisfying taste and smell. How his hand that wasn't pinned by the carriage cushion had touched her own face, the smoothness of his skin against hers . . . intense.

"I should go to bed," Michelle answered smiling still.

"Fine, but you have to answer me one question, Michelle."

"Fire away,"

"What happens tomorrow?"

"Life happens," she answered and after rinsing her brandy glass out, went to bed.


	21. Chapter 21

_June fifteenth, 1898_

_Dear Madame Giry,_

_I do not know if this is your current residency anymore. But I pray that this will reach your hands as soon as possible. However, to the point I would kindly like to invite you and Meg to return to France in the near future-four months from now; October 17th, here at the Opera Popular. There has been a significant change in my life in which I would like for the two of you to bear witness to; a marriage. _

_It's been a few years since you left-three and a half if I am counting right. Lots has happened since I last wrote, and heard no response; The Opera Popular is preparing to open the rehersal wings for teaching students. Carlotta will be permitted to help teach, though she is going to deal with more administrative things. Alexi has also put in a hand for help as our official book-keeper. Carlotta has found someone, if it means anything to you; Alexi's single boss Misseur Albert Hauster. Despite not being an easy to please man, they both hold high expectations and it suits them nicely. It's very comical to see them sometimes. _

_Symon's three today. Today . . . how time has flown. He looks more and more like his blood father every day, which is haunting at times. He loves Alexi though, which I had hoped would happen. He has his father's hair and ear for music. He likes to dance if someone is playing-or if I wind up the music box for him. I think when he is older I will hire someone to teach him in some sort of instrument. What though I am not sure-that should come to me with time. _

_How are you and Meg? I think about the two of you often these days, as Carlotta and I prepare to open the opera house. There is so much I wish you were within arms reach to ask about, but I have been able to manage well enough. The main theatre in the building is not open yet. That room is going to cost us a fortune . . . we will probably have to sell things sometime in the distant future but Carlotta and I will get around to it when that time comes. _

_How is Erik? As I mentioned he comes and goes from my mind as I watch my son grow. What does he do now? I ask because I am would like to tell my son the truth when he is old enough to hear it. It is yes, many years from now, but I don't want to answer the question incorrectly to him the day he realizes he is not Alexi's son. Mirrors can be such truth tellers. Thanks Erik by the way, for the music box-for Symon. He treasures it dearly and treats it with the upmost care, a rarity amongst infants I find these days._

_Meg, I know you told me you would send word of how you are, but I already know. You are doing great, and I miss having you at my side sometimes. Carlotta is sarcastic sometimes to the point where I want to pull my hair out, but not enough to kill. We have ironed things out, and get along like sisters-but not like how you and I bounced about for that masquerade ball at the Opera Popular. That is a day I hold dear to my heart, and if you were here with Madame Giry for my big day I would love to have you at my side for it. _

_I have to go-I am preparing flyers that have to go out this afternoon for tomorrows mail, pertaining to the enrollment of students is now open. It's most exciting! _

_I hope to see the __three__ two of you there. I would like Erik there-for old times sake, but I truly doubt that it would be a possible thing at this point. _

_Much love and kind regards to all,_

_Michelle Le'Clair'e_

_Owner, manager, and instructor of the Opera Popular_

_Paris, France_

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Michelle sealed the letter and sent it out with the rest of the mail doubting to hear anything back, knowing that since that one letter long ago, that no one had contacted her. Perhaps Carlotta was right and they just no longer cared.

Then again perhaps something had happened.

They would find out in a few months.

The engagement had been a splendid one that had occurred a month ago, when Alexi had taken her out to a nice restaurant. Carlotta had once again agreed to take Symon off Michelle's hands under the request of Alexi. She had known before Michelle to what he was planning.

_The resturant though was classy, and Michelle had dressed nicely for whatever event it was that Alexi was taking her out for. He had only told her "dress in your finest". She had been conserned only with the why, but a suprise was a suprise so she played along. _

_Dinner and wine were splended, expensive and very over the top _when it came to reflecting on how the first part went. _Then dessert was presented, and that's when Alexi decided it was time to pop the question. _

_"Michelle Le'Clair'e," he had stooped onto one knee, "Will you marry me?" he presented a gold ring, elegntly decorated with gemstones surrounding a diamond. _

_The resturant seemed to have an echoing moment, because then the entire facilty was quiet for that one moment-whether it was for good or bad intentions, it didn't matter. _

_But everyone was watching._

_Michelle had been shocked; despite being well aquainted with Alexi, holding deep emotions to the man, she was afraid. This had been one of the things she had hoped might have happened between her and Erik._

But this is not Erik,_ she reminded herself, _Alexi will never leave you.

_There would be no other opportunity for love, and why would she want anyone else who could accept her son, when charming Alexi was already being called 'dad' by Symon. _

_"Yes," she had answered. _

_There was a buzz of sound that was of hands coming together in applauding, as Alexi slipped the ring onto her finger, their eyes locked. _

This is the man I will spend the rest of my life with. _she had thought with a positive manner. _

_Their lips met for a short moment, and then he returned to his seat. But Michelle's heart pounded in her ears with excitment. Somone who cared for her and her son-someone who she cared about would now be a part of her life forever. _

Michelle stared at the ring sitting on her finger and smiled recalling that night when she had returned to the apartment she still shared with Carlotta. _Symon raced to the door and leapt up into her arms happy to see her-Liam and Elma at his heels. _

_"So, how'd it go, my darling?" Carlotta asked in her teasing tone._

_Michelle entered the parlor where Carlotta was reading a romance book, Symon still in her arms, and showed Carlotta the ring. _

_"You said yes?" _

_Michelle nodded. _

_"I am so happy-and the ring is nicer than I had imagined."_

_"You knew?"_

_"Of course I did. That's why I kept Symon tonight."_

_"You twit," but they were in a fit of giggles. There was no anger. There couldn't be when the night had been so perfect. _

_Symon looked at his mother confused. _

_"What is so funny?"_

_"It's nothing, my darling."_

_"But why are you laughing?"_

_"For happieness, Symon."_

_"Why?"_

_"Your mommy here is about to marry your father," Carlotta answered before Michelle could put the words together. _

_Symon still looked at Michelle with a confused face, but turned his attention to Carlotta, "What does that mean?" _

_"Means you're all going to live together under one roof,"_

_"But can I still come visit you?"_

_"Of course," she winked, "Now I think it's a bit past your bedtime isn't it?"_

_He nodded and after giving his aunt a hug and mother a kiss, went off to bed. _

_Carlotta waitied until he was out of the room before speaking again, "So, are you happy Michelle?"_

_She nodded enthusiastically._

_"Good," she handed her a sifter of brandy, "A drink, for bedtime," she began to paugh again, "I would have loved to have been there with you two when he popped the question."_

_"What did you two do this evening?" _

_"Dinner, a story or two, and I let him stay up to play with Liam and Elma until you got home so long as he went to bed after." she grinned, "I am going to miss your little man when you two move out."_

_This statement was true; she had bonded with Symon greatly over the years, and she loved to play the piano for him. Symon was quick to pick up on some of the things she was playing but his little hands were too small to hit the keys still._

_"You'll grow into them," she had remarked giving his shoulder a gentle squeeze._

Michelle now looked at the pile of mail she had to send and the pile of mail to sift through.

_This will be easy._ she told herself silently, and began the robotic process of folding letters into envelopes and putting a mark of postage on each.

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Michelle didn't expect a responce from Madame Giry but received one despite her doubts.

_Dearest Michelle,_

_We are pleased to hear the news about your engagement, and yes, I have recieved your previous letter. Life is quite busy for Meg and I here in America. It's nothing like what we were used to at the Opera Popular. _

_To answer your question, Erik's taken up a job with a local theatre company. His looks are taken with stride here, as a battle wound. It has been a relief to know he is more welcome here than he was there. I am glad you consider allowing Erik be known in Symon's life when the time comes. He will be opening a small play when your event is and will be unable to attend, but we shall let him know anyway._

_We are actually traveling to London about the same time so Meg and I will be mmost overjoyed to ear witness to your event. We will be in England for a time visiting Christine and Raoul, but while in France, I would be most pleased to see the progress you and Carlotta have made while we have been gone. _

_Speaking of Carlotta, I am glad you two have worked things out and you have set her in the right direction somewhat. I am familiar with her friend Misseur Hauster-a good couple if you ask me. _

_Thank you for writing, and telling us about Symon. We look forward to meeting your treasure when we come to your marriage to Alexi._

_With love,_

_Madame Antionette Giry, and Meg._

Michelle let Carlotta read the letter.

"Damn Madame Giry," Carlotta remarked as she read the mentioning paragraph about herself, "'Set me in the right direction'? Please, you and I were aleady there in the right direction; we just needed a while to know it."

"I know,"

"So Erik won't be coming?"

"No,"

"Good. He doesn't deserve to see Symon," she paused looking over the letter, "You asked what he was doing?"

"Yes,"

"At least you are thinking of Symon when you asked."

Michelle didn't answer.

"You miss Erik still,"

"Not really. I see him every day in Symon."

"That's not what I meant,"

"I know, and the truth is that I don't miss him much. He was great company, but I feel more at peace with Alexi."

Carlotta nodded, "I am for one glad to hear that. You deserve someone who won't just up and vanish."

Michelle grinned and taking the letter back slipped it into the trash bin.

"We have work to do don't we?"

"Indeed; we are having a public speech today about our school." she paused, "Speaking of which, Albert has set up a meeting for us with the head of education here in town so we can really call this place a school."

"When?"

"Friday,"


	22. Chapter 22

The opera house was certified by the education departments as a school for the arts, approving small class sizes, and the request that parents pay for the education-not a small fee of course, but enough to keep the place afloat. Carlotta was still sitting pretty when it came to her own finances, but she knew that they could leach off of Carlotta forever.

Michelle made contact with Fylise offering her a job helping teach as well as an invitation to her marriage. Michelle heard back by person, as Fylise came with a small suitcase.

"You offered me a job?"

"Would be up for teaching dance?"

"You have to be kidding; dance?"

Michelle nodded.

"Michelle, I am most honored you are letting me return to help yourun this place." she paused noticing Carlotta at a desk across the room sorting mail, "Is she safe?"

Michelle nodded with a wide grin.

"Good," she reutrned her gaze to Michelle, "I'm in. What sort of pay rate are you offering?"

"A basic teaching rate. Food and housing will be offered here for all staff."

"Splendid." she grinned embracing Michelle, "What took you so long to contact me?"

Michelle gestured to her desk where Symon was coloring in a book she had given him.

"Aw, Michelle!" she gushed, looking at Symon with doe eyes.

"His name is Symon." she paused, "Symon, honey? Would you come here for a minute?"

He did as told, coming up to his mother and holding her hand, "Yes, mommy?"

"I want you to meet a friend of mine; Symon this is Fylise. We grew up together." she turned back to Fylise, "My son, Symon."

Fylise looked at Symon, "A pleasure to meet you, Symon,"

"It is nice to meet you," he answered shaking her hand, immitating what he had seen his mother do with other clients.

"He's very mature," she observed when he returned to his coloring book, "How old is he?"

"Just barely past three."

"Has it been so long? He looks a lot like you."

"And his father,"

Fylise nodded solemly, "Indeed. I am happy that he's got Alexi though. Every boy needs a father."

"Do they?" Michelle asked watching Symon, do his best to keep the colors between the lines.

"Yes-I mean, that's what I've always been told."

Michelle shrugged, "He's been living with me and Carlotta for his life-span yet."

"He's tamed Carlotta, it seems."

"I heard that," Carlotta remarked from her desk.

"I was hoping-it's a good thing, Carlotta."

Fylise turned her attention back to Michelle, "So marriage, eh?"

Michelle nodded, "Let's go see you to your office here at the opera house,"

"My bed chambers also?" she asked.

Michelle nodded, "If you wish."

"Great; life outside this place hasn't been good for me."

"You'll be fine here," she turned her head over her shoulder as they walked out of the main office, "I'll be back,"

"Okay," Carlotta answered without looking up.

When they were out of the room and crossing a hall, Fylise spoke up again.

"To Alexi? The guy Madame Giry set up for you for that ball?"

"Yes,"

"He's lucky," she observed, noting an instant glow flashing over Michelle at his name.

"Indeed."

"Good. I want nothing less for you."

They reached a door that was next to Madame Giry's old office, and opened the doors, "And nothing less for my friend, who shall be teaching dance."

Fylise's chamber was larger than what even Madame Giry had once had. This room was large enough to work and sleep. It was also enough for Fylise to hide away whenever she needed without feeling trapped.

"No secret doors?"

"No," she answered.

Michelle had sealed all the doors that lead down to Erik's lair, except one; the former sopranna dressing room, now Michelle's personal office. She had removed all the old and ruined furniture and nicities, and placed a false wall where the old mirror door had been, and made it look unnoticable with a small table, holding books. Carlotta and Alexi didn't even enter this room, when Michelle entered it. They knew this was where she went to be alone from the stresses of being a manager. She had it sound proofed and would sing.

The one thing she was supposedly too old to do.

In fact, she was still in her prime despite being only a year or two younger than Carlotta, and a mother. She was most pleased with herself, and would let herself go until her voice failed sometimes, then she would take a glass of wine, and write a detailed record of all the things that was on her mind, finally leaving her room to return to society, and to her most beloved things.

To Symon and Alexi.

"Well, splendid," Fylise giggled, as she entered the office and walked about the room. "This is nice." she looked at one wall-the one to Madame Giry. "Who's got her office?"

"No one. I haven't decided what to do with that room. It's all cleaned out since the fire, but I haven't decided what to make of it."

"Storage for equiptment would be nice," Fylise observed.

And that was that; Madame Giry's former room was turned into a room for Fylise to stash spare supplies for dance; shoes, bars, clothing-the works.

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Things were setting into place nicely by the time Madame Giry and Meg arrived on Michelle's doorstep. By now the only thing missing were the children; school wouldn't start until after the wedding, so the first of November was approporiate. Time had aged Meg and the madame well, Michelle observed as she, Carlotta, Fylise and Symon made their way to the lobby to see their visitors. Carlotta stood off to one side as Fylise gushed to see the Girys embracing them boldly.

Fylise had arrived to Michelle on the thin side of normal, but had filled out again once she had been given regular meals, and a bed, she looked normal embracing the Madame who had a few more wrinkles, but not one bit of her stature was gone. She still held herself tall, and with her walking stick, would probably outlive everyone in the building.

Meg embraced Michelle with such enthusiasm, that she almost forgot that they had been gone for just over four years.

"And this must be Symon," Meg looked down to Michelle's son, with a broad smile.

"Symon, this is a dear friend of mine-Meg my son Symon."

"Hello,"

"Hi," Symon answered shaking her hand.

Madame Giry rose her brow at his obvious politeness.

"Meet my mother, Madame Antionette Giry."

"Hello," he stuck his hand out to Madame Giry.

Madame Giry took it carefully; it was obvious she could see Erik in his face.

"Hello Symon," she smiled, "It's a pleasure to finally meet you,"

"Same to you, Madame." he released her hand and returned it to his side.

Madame Giry looked to Carlotta, "Well, don't be shy. Come over here and give Meg and I a hug."

"You missed me?" Carlotta looked shocked by the aknowledgement.

"Of course," Madame Giry answered.

Carlotta moved slowly as if she might fall over, and in Madame Giry's embrace, smiled.

She embraced Meg as well, and then looked to Michelle, "I have some paperwork to do, so I will see you when you return, okay?"

"Of course," Michelle answered.

Carlotta took Symon's hand and following Fylise returned to their offices leaving Michelle alone with Madame Giry and Meg.

"You forgot to mention how handsome Symon is," Meg remarked, watching him over Michelle's shoulder.

Michelle smiled and dropped her eyes trying to hide hide her joys, and compose herself.

"Indeed," Madame Giry agreed, "Erik would be proud."

"His loss," Michelle answered, her chin risen again to look bold about having Symon without Erik.

"You could say that again," Meg agreed a smile crossing her face.

"Shall I give you the tour of what has been restored?"

"Please," Madame Giry and Meg said in unison.

They followed Michelle who showed them what they had done with the rehersal theaters, the offices, various storage rooms, the walls, bathrooms, new windows, and lastly returning to the main lobby.

"So the main theatre?"

"Is untouched since the fire. We haven't had the ability to do anything beyond fix the windows and roof, so there are no leaks."

"Of course."

"Do you plan to fix it?" Meg asked.

"I do," Michelle answered, her hand carefully running over one of the cleaned gold railings, "I cannot stand the idea of it rotting," she answered.

"What about all the secret passages?" Madame Giry asked.

"All but the one in my office is sealed off and inaccessable."

"One?" Madame Giry asked with a raised brow.

"One," she confirmed, "With the old blue-prints, I was able to seal all of them up."

"Did we pass your office yet?" Meg asked.

"No," Michelle answered.

"May we?" Madame Giry asked.

Michelle nodded, and up the grand staircase they went and down two hallways to the former sopranna door.

Madame Giry's brow rose with suprise, "This is your office?"

"Yes," Michelle answered, "Despite being a manager, I am also a teacher here and need to be near the stage when we finally open this wing up."

She opened the door and let them inside. Beyond the false wall she had sealed up, she had included a small couch, desk and chair. The carpets she had cleaned herself, the walls were cleaned, and only one mirror was in the room, opposite the false door.

"It's nice," Madame Giry remarked noticing how she had disguised the secret entrance.

"Does Symon come in this room?" Meg asked.

Michelle shook her head, "No, I come here alone. I let myself release tension and let myself cut loose with one drink, and some personal channels."

"'Channels'?" Madame Giry asked.

"I sing, for my own method of stress releasement."

"Can you still sing?" Meg asked with some enthusiasm.

"Well enough for myself." a lie-Michelle knew better.

"I am glad to hear it," Madame Giry answered, a warm smile, like her old ones touched her face, "Have you gone down to Erik's old lair?"

"No," Michelle was telling the truth here, "I haven't felt the need to return yet. I have so much to do up above that I don't bother."

They stood in silence for a bit.

Then Madame Giry handed Michelle an envelope, with a red wax seal of a rose pressed into it.

"It's from Erik," Meg added as she took the envelope.

Michelle's hand shook as if she was seeing a ghost by holding the envelope.

"Have you read it?" Michelle asked the Girys.

"No; he gave it to us already sealed."

Michelle nodded, and set it on her desk; "I shall read it before you leave. I may send a reply if necessary."

"Of course," Madame Giry smiled.

"Oh it's so nice to be at your side again," Meg gushed enthusiastically.

Michelle smiled, but she had paled since receiving the letter. She didn't understand why it was bothering her so much, but hid her dread well enough for the rest of the day, and evening, as they closed the shop for the night. The wedding was only a couple of weeks away, and she had to be composed for it. Symon went home with Alexi as Michelle explained she had something to finish before joining them.

She slipped off to her office, and under candlelight, opened the envelope, carefully opening around the wax, and reading the letter carefully;

_Dear Michelle,_

_It's possible that this letter will find you under a new surname, but if I know the Girys at all, it'll come into your hands before then. I don't know where to begin, but I feel like I have a lot to tell you. It must sound strange, especially after that night following Don Juan, but I have missed your company ever since I told you to leave my side when we finished the notation to DJ, but do not fret on this. I think on it with kindness, knowing that you are doing well. Madame Giry let's me read the letters-two if I am correct, you have sent. I am pleased that the music box is in Symon's posession. I hope to one day meet him, when I return to France-again, not anytime soon, but there will be a day; I can feel it. _

_I wanted to congratulate you on your engagement and marriage, to Alexi Gregorski. A lucky man, that I regret not being able to witness taking your hand. I hope he will accept Symon, as his own; society here looks down on the adopting of . . . fatherless sons as much as France did, I have observed._

_If you ever get a chance to see America, I encourage that you and your family visit my theatre. we end up doing one production a month, but despite an over creative soul, I am able to let my visions fly better here than in the Opera Popular (which I do look forward to in its full glory)._

_I do not seek the comforts of a social life beyond the occasional 'beer' with co-workers. I cannot seek romance here in America beyond music. Perhaps, I overstepped by trying to win Christine's heart-which came with a big price after; heartbreak. I cannot think of love yet. I am not ready to move on from Christine, though your polite letters to Madame Giry have made me smile from time to time. _

_I do not expect an answer back, but if you do, it would be most appreciated. I don't intend on ruining your day with this letter. _

_With fondest regards,_

_Erik_

Michelle sipped a glass of red wine, not even noticing the tear that had formed in the corner of her eyes unil it touched an unwritten part of the page. She brushed it from the page, and removed any that were on her face, sniffling. She missed him as a friend.

But she loved Alexi now.

She stared at the page unreading the letter now, her mind recomposing itself, as she drew up a blank page, and with a quill responded with a careful hand.

_Dear Erik,_

_Thank you for your kind letter; it was nice to finally hear word from you directly rather than second hand. I am not sure why._

_Symon calls Alexi 'dadda' these days. I hope to tell him the truth when he is ready though. He deserves that much when he is old enough. He looks a lot like you these days, and is eager to learn how to play the piano. He is almost old enough for one of the smallest pianos, but not quite yet. It shall be interesting to see if he has your skill to compose original work._

_I have no plans of traveling; with the Opera Popular soon to open as an educational facility, I plan on making my priorities stay here for the time. I will be teaching song to children-it must seem strange since I am so old now, but as I told Madame Giry and Meg, I am still good (I think still in my prime, despite my age). I shall keep your invitation though, in case I do travel. I will be making one pilgrimage to Saint Petersburg to meet Alexi's family, whom former immigrants to France once, returned and are inable to attend the wedding. _

_As I have told Madame Giry, you ought to know all the passages leading down to what was once your domain have been sealed all except the one through the sopranna's room-my office now. I haven't made a trip down to the domain sicne Don Juan. Old nerve strings get plucked when I consider the option. I am sure you understand._

_I am pleased that you are letting your music continue to flow in America. Madame Giry mentioned that you don't wear your mask as often-a really nice piece of news to hear. You looked good without it. _

_Do not fret about finding my name changed yet by the time your note reached me; I would have read it, even if my name was Gregorski. You will always have a place in my heart thanks to Symon. _

_And don't hold yourself back; when the time comes, love makes it's way into our souls whether or not we want it to; and love . . . Love Never Dies, Erik. Hopefully Christine will understand one day what it was she lost by choosing Raoul over you._

_With love and fond regards,_

_Michelle Le'Clair'e _

_Owner/Manager/Vocal teacher of the Opera Popular_

_Paris, France_

_Post-Script: Have you ever ice-skated? It's such an alien activity that I thought would be easy being a former dancer, but I found myself to be as clumsy as I once was learning to dance in chains. You ought to try it-it's truly a magical thing._


	23. Chapter 23

Michelle sat in front of a mirror wearing a corset, and leggins. She still had yet to slip into her dress before she went out to the cathedral. Carlotta had gone ahead already dressed and primped to perfection, to check out the facility and make sure things were in place. Her guests were waiting for her to arrive, but as she stared into the mirror in her office, she was frightened. She had never done this with anyone and had didn't know what to expect. Nothing had been rehersed, and nothing was unveiled to her; her dear Carlotta was the one who had done all the planning and set up with Alexi. The only things she got to have any say on was the dress, and shoes to go with it.

_You cannot hide forever Michelle._ she told herself, but her hands were trembling, as she tried to slip into her dress, with off shoulder sleeves, a corset back, but consealed much of her chest; a nicity. She reached behind her lacing the pre-threaded laces, and tightened each one as if her fingers were crochette hooks, knitting her back together over the under corset. She turned to face herself in the mirror again when she was tied in, and slid the slipper heels onto her feet, and stared at her face.

She had to cover those fears for one day. She would be happy and normal again after today.

This was just an act to show that she and Alexi were meant to be.

She drew on some lip stick, a pinch of rouge, and eye shadow.

It was so strange to think back on all the things she had done previous to this step stone in her life; she had watched her family die, sold nearly everything her family had, joined the Opera Popular, made friends, sang, danced, survived multiple mishaps, and had a son.

All these things had been without Alexi.

_Think of all the things you'll face with him_. She told herself.

They would raise Symon, he would do well in music, and academics. They would be at his side throughout life, and maybe he'd have a sibling, and they would both go on to lead prosperous lives.

Michelle would still teach at the Opera Popular, and make some money, teach eager students, and in the meantime, make her life mean something with Alexi. Skating, dancing, singing, and trying to compose music for a large audience that may never come.

Alexi . . .

_Did he have any of these sort of fears? Or was he overjoyed?_

She slipped the ring she was going to present to Alexi into a red rose in her bouqet, and left the engagement ring on her desk. She fastened the veil on and taking a deep breath, walked out the door to the carriage out front that would take her to her princes Alexi and Symon.

To the rest of her life.

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"By the power of our Holy Lord, presiding within my person, I now pronounce you husband and wife." he unwrapped the silk scarf from their hands, and stepped back, as Alexi slid a new diamond ring on Michelle's finger, and Michelle returned the gesture with a gold ring holding it's own golden band.

"You may kiss your bride, ser."

Alexi glanced at the priest, and without removing his hands from hers leaned over their hands to kiss Michelle, who answered the gesture warmly.

There was a silence just before their lips touched, but when they did, hands came and met across the church.

As they pulled away, they turned to face the crowd. Michelle could see Carlotta, by her side-the only one to stand with her at this event, and the one to give Michelle away today, a tear forming on the corner of her eye, as they stood there.

The Count Raoul deChagny had been more than willing to stand beside his friend as his first mate to this occasion. Christine was in the crowd holding her son Gustave, who Michelle knew wasn't Raoul's child, thanks to Symon's good looks, but she didn't let the secret spill.

She would take it to her grave.

Still holding Alexi's hand, they lead the percesson out of the cathedral and out into the streets. With each step she saw a familiar face in the crowd, but she had only invited a small group of people, and most of Alexi's guests were co-workers and buisness partners.

They reached the wedding carriage, and Michelle turned her head once back, as Carlotta at her heals.

"Symon's going to have an overnightter with me. You can pick him up in the morning. You two must have this night alone." she whispered quickly into her ear, winked, and vanished into the crowd, Symon in her arms.

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Michelle rose the following morning, tired having not slept a wink the previous night, due to her beloved's passion. She reached his powder room-their powder room, and cleaned herself up, and dressed in a simple dress she had left at his apartment some time ago. She couldn't help but muse at how much time he had given her and her son. His apartment had changed as their love grew over the years; he had changed his single man lifestyle, to make one of his old spare storage bedroom a bedroom for Symon, and made room in his own to move Michelle in when the time came.

Alexi came up behind her wrapping his arms around her sides.

"Good morning, my darling," he purred kissing her neck.

"Good morning, my dear husband," she turned to face him, kissing his lips gently.

"Breakfast?" he was dressed in black slacks and a white button-up suit shirt.

"I would appreciate that," she answered, "And then, if you don't mind, I'd like to get my son."

"_Our_ son," he corrected her with one of his heart-melting grins.

"Yes," she answered, "Our son." a smile growing on her face.

"Good," he released her gently, and went towards the kitchen to prepare some sort of breakfast.

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Michelle went out to Carlotta's after breakfast with Alexi, and retirieved their son.

"Mommy!" Symon cheered to see her.

Michelle dropped to her knees and embraced him as he raced to her, "Hello my prince!" she smiled, kissing his cheek.

He pulled out and embraced Alexi, "Dadda!"

"Symon," he answered, hoisting him up, holding him at his side.

Carlotta came from the kitchen and grinned one of her teasing grins to the newlyweds.

"So, did you two have a charming night?"

Michelle felt her face flush to a light shade of red.

Alexi noticed and wrapped his free arm around her waist, "I am not one to kiss and tell, but I would say it was a plesant night."

Carlotta smirked, but couldn't hold it, as she began to laugh.

"Well, I am glad to hear it. Symon was up for a while with Liam and Elma, but he did sleep soundly."

"Oh good," Michelle answered, glad to be out of the spotlight.

"Have you two had breakfast yet?" Alexi asked.

"We have; my special toast dipped in batter and layered in strawberries-just the way Symon likes them." she grinned, then rose walking them to the door, "Well, I hate to rush you all out, but I am meeting Albert for lunch today," she grinned and once everyone was out locked the door.

"Thank you for everything Calrotta," Michelle said as the men went ahead to the carriage.

"Of course," Carlotta answered, "I love Symon dearly, but I still don't want kids of my own."

"No? You'd be good at it." they giggled, as they reached the front steps of the building.

"No, kids. I am far too old for it."

"Please, I am just barely thirty."

"My point exactally."

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The Opera Popular opened for school a few weeks later. There wasn't any call for song, so she helped Fylise teach dance, being her partner, when necessary, otherwise she was a teacher's aid.

It was strange being a teacher, rather than a student. She had done that role for years. Michelle was good at helping students, but she felt off kilter not being able to teach song. She hid in the administrative office helping do paperwork when not helping teach, but at night when the doors were closed, students asleep in the student dorms, or back with their families, Michelle vanished to her office and wrote, starting a small diary, writing nothing of significance, beyond her frustrations. She would sing after, her voice uncracking and flawless.

She had found some charred remains in the old and untouched main theatre once of Don Juan-just flakes, but now Michelle felt her soul reach out to the remains, promising to rewrite the piece. She needed something to do here when not teaching, and she remembered every not well enough, but now she wanted to improve the mistakes that Erik wouldn't fix when she told him.

It wouldn't be performed, but she knew that it shouldn't be forgotten.

Her fingers to page, she carefully transcribed from memory the chorus-her favorite part out of the entire piece.

She would however not let this piece consume the rest of her life. She had Symon and Alexi to love.

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Time slipped by Michelle faster than she had recalled school being, as students excelled in what they were taught, no older than thirteen, but no younger than nine. They were all growing so fast. Two months slipped by, and Michelle barely realized the small change in her life hit her once again, as the obvious signs of being with child again made her ill in the mornings.

Symon took it as just a cold . . . everyone gets them, but Alexi knew, and seemed have a familiar glow about him as she left the bathroom one morning.

"How far along are you?"

Her eyes flicked over to him with question in her eyes but answered calmly, "Two to three months, my love."

"'Two to three'?" he grinned, "So in six or seven months then, Symon is going to have a brother or sister?"

She nodded, still feeling pale from her vomiting.

He rose from his chair and embraced Michelle, "I am so happy to hear this, my love."

"You're upset that it's so soon since our marriage?" she asked weakly.

"Not at all," he answered kissing her lips tenderly.

"When should we tell Symon?" Michelle asked, somewhat nervous of what might happen.

"When he asks why you're growing," he answered placing a hand on her abdomin.

She stared up at her sandy haired love, "That's a awkward time to answer such a question."

"Is it?"

She nodded, "I'll tell him later today about it."

"Good," he paused, "May I tell the office?"

"Of course," she answered, as it began to snow outside again.

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Symon was happy to hear about the idea of having a brother or sister.

"Which one?" he asked eagerly.

"What would you want?" she asked.

"A sister."

"Why?" she asked grinning at how well he was taking it.

"Because I am your prince."

She laughed, embracing her son, as a knock came to the administrative office.

Carlotta.

With a brow risen, she went to the door.

"I left my key at home, and didn't want to go get it."

"Of course," Michelle answered still glowing slightly from Symon's answer.

"Auntie Carlotta! Guess what momma just told me!"

She glanced at Michelle quizzically but played along with Symon, "What did she tell you?"

"She says I am going to have a brother or sister!"

Carlotta's brows rose with shock and delight, "Really? I say, that's wonderful news!" she embraced Symon as she always did.

Symon bounced about and returned to a handwriting book Alexi had picked up for him recently. It was time to start teaching him at least some academic education outside the opera house.

"So, you and Alexi?" Carlotta asked Michelle.

"Of course,"

"Honey, I am so proud of you two." she grinned widely, "Well not to be too competitive, I have some news myself."

"Really?" Michelle answered noticing Carlotta's toying smile broaden.

"Oh yes, yes I do." she pulled her left glove off.

"Albert?" she asked.

"You betcha'." she laughed, "He asked me last night when he came over to visit."

"Carlotta, that is amazing news!"

"I know," we have set the wedding for two months from now. It's just going to be the staff here, and his employees, but sweetie, I need you to stand up there with me."

"Oh?"

"Yes," she answered, "I won't stand up there by myself. Besides, who the hell is going to give me away?"

"You know I will be by your side, Carlotta."

They laughed, as the door knocked again.

Michelle turned with Carlotta to see Christine deChagny.

"Well well well . . . look who came to visit us," Carlotta smirked.

"Oh go to work," Michelle grinned, as Carlotta went to her desk before being told. Michelle went to the door.

"Christine, a suprise to see you here."

"Yes, well, I came to see this place. Raoul told me that this place was open for classes."

"It is," Michelle answered.

"Would you mind if I looked around-observed the classes."

"Are you thinking of brining Gustave here in the future?"

"I don't know," she answered, "I haven't been here since you sent word for me to get what things that were mine out-at least what wasn't burnt by the fire. I didn't think you would open this place again."

"No?"

"No," she confirmed, "I expected this place to be closed," they had begun to walk about the building.

"Not everything is open yet." Michelle countered.

"No?"

"The main theatre is still closed. I have walked through it, but it's going to take more than what I am capable of doing at the present moment."

"Oh," she shrugged, "I would have expected that to be the first you fixed if anything."

"Why's that?"

"Please, I think it's fair to think that you would put the most of your time into that wing; that's where the money was. Not in schooling."

Michelle shrugged.

"You don't think so?"

"I don't know. But like I said earlier, I've been in there once or twice, but it's going to take more time than I can give."

"Right," she decided not to press further, "Your wedding was lovely."

"Thank you, but that was a long time ago."

"Yes, but Raoul was the one who stood beside Alexi."

"What's your point?"

"Because Alexi is such a good friend to Raoul, I thought I might try and at least come by, be your friend and catch up on the years I missed with you."

"Why? What's in it for you?"

"Nothing in particular," she paused, "Who is Symon's father?"

"This is why you came isn't it?" Michelle coutered catching Christine's pause, "You saw how much he looked like your precious Gustave, and had to come talk to me about it." she wasn't mad about this, but it was annoying that it took them so long to reach this point in their conversation.

"You noticed that did you?" she seemed a bit timid about it as if someone could be watching them.

"I did,"

"How old is Symon?"

"Four in June,"

"Four?"

"Yes,"

"Gustave just turned three,"

Michelle shrugged.

"You haven't answered my question," she informed Michelle as they made their way across the hallyways and stood by her office.

"And I have nothing to say about your question; the father's identity will remain my secret. Symon's my son."

"Does Symon know?"

"Not yet,"

"And Alexi?"

"He wanted the child before he took his first breath." she paused, "He didn't care who the father was."

Christine fell silent as they strolled past her office. This was obviously not the conversation Christine had in mind when she came here. They reached the lobby again, and stopped.

"So you can Carlotta?"

"Are friends," she paused, "Madame Giry might have told you that."

"She rarely writes. I talk to Meg all the time these days, however."

"She might have told you something then; ask her about it sometime. If you don't mind though, I have ther pressing matters to attend to."

"Of course,"


	24. Chapter 24

Michelle lay awake that night, after the visitation with Christine, her mind evaluating her words, understanding that the main theatre was the main source of income.

She would have to fix it.

And why couldn't she? She rarely was necessary in the classes, and didn't do much in the administrative end of things. She had the time to fix the main theatre.

And her remarks about Symon?

_That is none of her buisness,_ Michelle declared in her thoughts.

Alexi rolled in his sleep, rose once to go to the restroom, despite being groggy, he could clearly see her eyes wide awake.

"Michelle?"

Her eyes flicked over to her mate.

"Why are you still awake, my dear?"

"Just thinking," she answered.

"About?"

"The theatre," she answered mildly.

He slid back under the covers and looked at her questioning and interested, "What about it?"

"I think I need to begin the renovations to the main theatre; the one that brought in the biggest revenue."

"Christine got to you today didn't she?"

Michelle nodded, despite the dark, she knew Alexi could see her answer.

"I knew she went to see you; Raoul came by for a visit today as well, while I was working. He had mentioned briefly what her visit was about."

"Did he ask you anything about Symon?"

"No," he answered, "Why?"

"Because Christine inquired after his father, because Gustave looks so much like him."

"What did you tell her?"

"That it was none of her buisness, and it didn't matter to her because Symon was yours."

"That is true," he answered, curling up close to Michelle, "Very true indeed. The only thing that is different about us is genetics. And as for the main theatre wing, if it's something you really want to do, I do not see a problem with that, under one condition."

"Yes?"

"Please be careful; you are carring another person with you constantly."

Michelle nodded, tipping her head over to kiss her husband.

"I love you,"

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Michelle arose the next day, and dressing in a casual manner, entered the Opera Popular with grace as she entered the main theatre. Her breath caught in her throat, as she saw how quickly the dust had collected over the last several months. She had been in the main wing several times before, but it had never been with a real objective.

She walked down the former red carpet, and onto the stage. Turning, she could feel a thousand ghostly eyes stare at her; each one waiting to see what she would do.

She made a mental list of the things she could and couldn't do. She could get all the dust away, and refinish the gold statues. It would take some serious work to refinish the ceiling where the painting had been ripped out, by the chandelier.

She would have to call in a professional painter to fill in the replaced gaps. Walls would need to be scrubbed and repainted as well.

The seat cushions and covers needed replaced, and the seats themselves needed to be seriously cleaned. Carpets, and hard floors alike needed replaced or cleaned as well. The Composer's podium and the musicians pit needed to be rebuilt.

Everything on the stage she observed, turning away from her audience needed replaced, including the floorboards she stood upon.

_This was not going to be an easy project,_ she mused, her steps carefully moving to the back of the stage. Sets, and props from old performances were partically burnt or ruined.

She would have to do a lot, and she would need help she realized with a good majority of it.

Was this place really worth fixing completely?

This was the last major project sine her and Carlotta began reinovating the place.

_It won't be so bad,_ she mused, but behind her she could hear the ghosts from Don Juan cry out over and over as if the chandelier was still falling down all around them. She moved deeper into the backstage, seeing, most of the wooden catwalks and stairs had been melted. The cast iron staircase that lead up to the roof was still intact, though wobbly. The rest of the backstage was simply gone.

The entire backstage in short would need to be completely replaced.

_It won't be too bad,_ Michelle told herself, as she returned to the front of the stage, and tinkered around for the trap door.

The empty space where the trapdoor opened for Don Juan was still there-a bit large thanks to the fire, but Michelle could clearly see that it dropped one story down, and into a maze of tunnels after.

A gateway to somewhere.

Michelle dropped down into the hole. Something she had wanted to do in Don Juan, and found herself in a damp tunnel. She looked about.

_This should lead back up to the dressing rooms,_ she thought, but as she walked, found two passageways; one that went up, and the other went down.

Up meant the dressing rooms, she knew.

But down . . . she turned left, and descended into the darkness, uncertain where it lead.

The darkness took her to a familiar staircase.

_I thought I had all the exits sealed off,_ Michelle frowned turning away, and making a note to herself to seal it.

As she returned to the surface, she felt her old self rise from deep within wanting to sing-to prove herself to someone. Something.

Disappointment met her at the urge, when she kept her lips sealed instead. Why sing if no one was there to listen?

She tipped her head down in shame, and left the main wing, to rent several large dumpsters, and seek out painters.

Michelle returned later in the evening, to write down the list of things she had to do to this theatre wing to make it operational. In short at the bottom of the page she wrote sarcastially;

_Everything_.

She climbed into bed that night, and slept restlessly, knowing she would be ill in the morning by default, and exhausted the next night from working.

_But work is nice in compare to doing nothing_, she reassured herself.

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Michelle Le'Clair'e Gregorsky began the dance the next day of cleaning the main wing with begining on the walls. She went up on ladders and still stable catwalks to reach the ceiling first and scrub away the smoke, and dust that had hidden the painting under it-or above, since it was the ceiling she was focusing on scrubbing clean.

She had found a painter the previous day willing to come in for a small fee and repaint and plaster the ceiling that had been ruined, so long as the parts that remained were scrubbed to perfection.

For this, Michelle laced about several boards, and with someone below watching-usually Carlotta, as she did paperwork in a folding chair, layed out flat on the boards, and looking up, she outstretched her reach, cleaning each section carfully making certain she didn't flake any more paint from the ceiling than necessary.

"You know, the farther you get into your term, the less likely it will be for you to do that," Carlotta remarked from down below.

"Yes, well so long as I can at least get the ceiling then the rest is a piece of cake."

"Cake sounds good," Carlotta chuckled from below.

"You can go get some if you want," Michelle answered.

"That's peachy unless I return and those ropes holding you up there slip."

Michelle didn't answer as she made a square foot clean zone, finally able to see a cherub.

"Thank you for staying Carlotta, I don't know what I would do without you," Carlotta mocked from down below.

"Yes, what would I do without you?" Michelle answered without any sarcasm.

"Is that your way of thanking me?"

"For now," she answered, humor on her tongue, but not overzealous, as she knew these planks holding her up could fail if she did something at too odd of an angle. "I will hand you a better thanks when I am done up here."

"Sure," Carlotta answered back.

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For an entire week, Michelle dangled above fate, scrubbing away at the burnt and ruined paint from the ceiling. Despite her best efforts, the entire ceiling would need to be repainted, the fire damage too great. Carlotta spent most of her time below Michelle watching her movements, and filing paperwork for grants to continue to reinovate the main wing.

Symon spent the week with Alexi which was nice for both of them, because Michelle always took him to work, but the flip side was Alexi could teach Symon the seeds of mathmatics, and arithmatic. Symon was still young, but Michelle knew that the time would fly past her, especially as the owner of the oepra house. And she wanted him to go to a real school, and live beyond the opera house.

To Michelle this project she set upon would be the deciding factor to whether or not the Opera Popular would be able to sustain itself after. Michelle worked dilligently on the gold statues under the domed ceiling, as a local painter and plaster master came in and began the careful recreation of what was on the wall, refering to it as it was some work of Michaelangelo.

Michelle knew as she began the work on the sculptures, that she was not going to be able to finish them to their glory. She looked down to where Carlotta was filing a letter for another grant.

"Carlotta?"

"Yes?"

"What are the chancees of making these sculptures look like they once did without the burns?"

"Like before Erik chopped down the chandelier? None." she paused and glanced up at the plaster-painter Jaques Pettygol, "Jaques!"

"Yes, madame?" he crained his middle-aged head down to see the addresser.

"Can you fix statures?"

"The gold painted ones?"

"Yes,"

"Perhaps," he glanced over to where Michelle was working, on one, scrubbing the ash from the veiled face of a man, "Perhaps, I shall take a look at the end of the day."

"Great,"

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Some month after all of Michelle's dedicated work began, she was closer to the floor than she had on previous occasions, most of the balconies had little damage, and it was easy to clean and remove what couldn't be fixed. The hired painter began to trade work for his daughter, Lisetta to attend the dancing classes. The upside, was that Michelle didn't have to cut Jaques a check every week, but now they fed and housed a girl they weren't getting paid for.

"It's work trade," Carlotta reminded her. "So long as he keeps working with you then there is no need to be worried about the finances-I'll deal with them."

Basic things were starting to look normal, but Michelle knew better than to keep her hopes up; everything had a downside.

But on a Friday, Michelle took the day off to go help Carlotta find a dress. Carlotta wanted a pink rather than white wedding.

"Why not white," Michelle asked.

"White is the sign of a virgin, sweetie, and I have my share of men. And I won't wear red because that's a sign of a whore for certain so I want pink."

"Be in the middle?"

"To be the center of attention," she paused, "Gosh Michelle, you should know by now," she laughed hysterically as they shuffled through dresses.

"And what do you want me to wear?"

"You are wearing pink as well . . . a different shade of course, but I am having a pink wedding."


	25. Chapter 25

Carlotta's wedding was quick to arrive, and Michelle looked in the mirror at her pastel pink victorian dress with white trim, and silver lining. She wore small heels and did her hair in a simple manner, tied back in a rosey pink broach.

Michelle helped Carlotta make herself "princesss" pretty with all the glamor and glitter she wanted, and by the time she finished, Carlotta could pass as someone of royal blood.

"Now if there's something wrong with what you did," Carlotta remarked, "I will personally make your life hell,"

"Right," Michelle answered laughing at the mild threat.

But Carlotta wasn't ever disappointed with Michelle's work when it came to hair and make-up that day; in fact the wedding was ideal. Carlotta had hired Symon to be the ring bearer, which made Symon happy. Alexi stood with his boss as Michelle brought the bride who despite having a bold pink dress had permitted herself to let the top half be white.

Michelle gave the bride away.

"You look lovely, my dear."

Carlotta was fighting tears, but held herself well, as she face Albert Hauster.

In the crowd, staff members of the Opera Popular were gathered as well as employees of Albert Hauster. Michelle felt the hushed sound of awe as the preacher began to recite a familiar speech.

Michelle glanced across to Alexi whose eyes had met hers with a tiny grin, the sound of the priest swept away for a moment, as if time had reversed to their own wedding day.

Had it been so long? Michelle counted backwards, realizing that they had been together just over six months.

Her hand touched her waist as she recalled how time seemed to have flown; her waist was not as large as it had been at this point when she had had Symon, but she still had three months.

How did time fly by so fast?

"I now pronounce you man and wife," the priest remarked, as Symon raised up a small pillow holding the rings.

Carlotta smiled widely as Albert placed a gold ring with large diamonds on her finger, and she placed a large diamond ring on his own finger.

Symon moved so he stood beside his mother, and they watched together as Ablert kissed his wife, Madame Carlotta Hauster.

Alexi and Michelle left for Saint Petersburg with Symon not long after that, deciding it was the ideal time to leave the Opera Popular for a short while. Michelle hadn't been fully thrilled with leaving before her second child was born, but there were rumors of a rise in politics that Alexi wanted to avoid by visiting sooner. He was after all Russian himself, and didn't want to be involved with the rising political uprising called Communism.

She rested little on the ride to the train station. She had heard frightening things about trains and their unreliabilities. She had also heard about the people who used trains for suicide, and it frightened her to even dare think that she might see someone who could do that.

"Don't fret, my love," Alexi answered her consern as they boarded the train. He kissed her tenderly on the cheek, "Nothing is going to happen to us."

Michelle nodded, as they entered their cabin, and watched as the train began to move. Symon was overjoyed to begin such a journey, and he was instantly in love with the steam engine that they had boarded, but Michelle knew that it would never compare to his passion for the piano.

She closed her eyes letting the sounds and the rhythm of the train permit her sleep.

Misseur Yorgi Gregorsky, Alexi's cousin met them at the Russian station. He looked much like Alexi, but his hair was as dark as night, and his accent was thick with the Russian dialect.

"Welcome to Russia, cousin." he embraced Alexi, and turned to Michelle and Symon.

"And this must be Michelle," He kissed Michelle's hand in a gentleman manner and looked to the boy confused.

"This is my son, Symon." Alexi answered his question.

"But," Yorgi questioned.

Alexi threw him a sharp look, Symon oblivious to the consern. Michelle took her son's hand.

"He's more my son than his," she remarked with a giggle.

Yorgi gave her a measured look, "Of course," he glanced at his brother, "We have much to discuss. We must talk soon." he gestured for all of them to join him in a not so spacious carriage. Symon sat on Michelle's lap.

"Who is he?" he asked Alexi.

"This is your . . . uncle, Yorgi." Alexi looked at Yorgi pleading for him to play along.

Yorgi shot him a dark look.

"Uncle?" he glanced at Michelle then back at Yorgi.

Michelle was well aware of Yorgi's displeasure of his cousin's affections. She stared out the window in silence, as Symon asked Yorgi simple questions about who he was, until they arrived at a large mansion not far outside of town.

"Come, Rayleene and Sadonski are expecting you, cousin." he helped Michelle and Symon out of the cariage politely, and followed the three inside.

Despite it being Russia, it was a warm midsummer day. There was a chance of snow, by newspaper predictions, but nothing concrete. Michelle wasn't concerned, in fact thought it would be a good thing for Symon. He was old enough to remember more than was expected.

The mansion was small compared to others that they had passed. This one was three stories tall and a minimum of forty thousand square feet. All the floors were of a red stone, and the walls were gold. It reminded Michelle of being in the opera house when she was a little girl. Her breath caught in her throat, and she smiled.

Alexi paused to let her sink in the foyer. To the higher classes this was a basic design, but it was obvious that it was more to Michelle. Symon was in awe as well, as a butler came up to them, and took their coats.

"Someone should be out for your things, Ser Gregorsky,"

"Thank you," Alexi answered.

"Your family awaits you in the parlor."

Alexi nodded, Michelle noted his short gestures. He was nervous, and he had every right to be. With Yorgi's less than cheery reception of his wife and son, they were more likely to get a colder responce.

Two older people sat in what was considered the parlor; a spacious room in a similar color scheme like the foyer, but there wasn't as much red. It was a more gold and white room with small dwarf trees flourishing in the partial sunlight that came through the windows.

The two older people stared at them with muted emotions. Ser Sandonsky and Madame Rayleene sat in fancy vanity style chairs, and rose when the four entered the room. Yorgi who was behind them, now came to the front of the small party.

"Aunt Rayleene, Uncle Sandonsky, might I present to you, your son, Alexi Gregorski, and his . . . wife, Michelle Le'Clair'e," she shot him a sharp look, "And he-their son Symon."

There was a long silence, between them all but finally Rayleene rose from her seat and came forward to embrace her son.

"It's been so long, Alexi. Why haven't you come sooner?"

"It's a busy world in France,"

"So I remember," she smiled, turning to Michelle and her son, "Welcome to the family, my dear." she paused noticing it seemed for the first time Michelle's growing swell, "Might I ask how far along are you?"

"Six and a half months, madame."

"Please, Rayleene works well enough," she paused, looking at Symon obviously noticing his lack of resemblence to Alexi, "Do you like scones, my dear?"

Symon nodded, shyly, "Yes, ma'am."

"Oh, how well mannered he is," she remarked to Michelle kindly, she took Symon's hand, "Come, and split one with me would you?"

"Alright," he accepted her hand and followed slowly in tow.

It was Sandonsky's turn to rise, and he did so slowly, his eyes watching as Symon paused long enough to shake his hand, and then continue to follow Madame Rayleene. Michelle watched carefully, but her attention was returned back to Alexi's father who stood before Alexi.

"Son, it's had been too long. You should have come to see us sooner."

"I would have but you remember what it was like to work for the Hausters."

"Still a bookkeeper then? God for you, my boy." he sighed, "Good for you," he paused and looked at Michelle, "And a fine young lady," he spoke in kind but it was clear by his eyes that he meant differently, "And Madame Le'Clair'e," Michelle gulped, "What do you do for a living?"

"I manage the Opera Popular, in Paris."

"Manage?" his brow rose in suprise.

"Yes, I own and run the opera house with my buisness partner Madame Carlotta Hauster."

"Hauster?" he glanced at Alexi.

"She just married, Albert."

"How interesting."

Michelle felt herself siver briefly, but couldn't determine why. She glanced at Alexi who had a slightly nervous stanse, but Sandonsky didn't seem to register is disposition.

"So," he looked to Michelle again, "a French woman, Alexi? Why not a Russian?"

Michelle gulped and glanced at Alexi, who wrapped his arm around her waist, "She's half Russian, father,"

"What's the other half?"

"Irish," she answered quickly. It was the truth, but she didn't want Alexi to answer all the questions she could that were about herself.

"An odd combination," he mused, "why don't you join _your _son. Alexi and I have things to discuss."

"But we just arrived," Alexi protested.

"And what we have to talk about cannot be put off." Sandonsky answered.

Michelle kissed her husband's cheek, and joined Rayleene and Symon.

"Father?" he asked as they walked towards Sandonsky's office.

"You are of Russian birth, and by right, I wish you weren't."

Alexi's brows furrowed as his cousin Yorgi followed the two men.

"Father?"

"You, have recieved mail here while you were gone, Alexi." Sandonsky began, "From our Russian government, discussing, requesting, then suddenly drafting you to become part of the militant army to fight the growing power of Communism."

Alexi paled, "I am not of fighting material,"

"But you are Russian, son." Sandonsky answered with some despair, "And I think that despite this recent marriage . . . _amour_ that you are eloped in, this war is for the better."

"Father, Michelle is my wife."

"But we both know that that child is not yours."

Alexi looked to Yorgi for support, but none was given.

"That bastard child is an ink stain alongside it's mother to our family, Alexi. You could have done better."

"So is that why you are sending me to war? To lose my wife?"

Sandonsky seemed hurt by his sudden question, "No, Alexi, that rejectable woman is not why I am sending you to join the army. I have no power over who get's drafted. But you must answer the call."

Alexi dropped into the closest chair, head in his hands. He had just ifnally got a grip of the life he wanted. He had a beautiful wife, and a son who loved him dearly, and another on the way. He had no intention of suddenly leaving them.

Yorgi sat down in a near by chair, "It's okay, cousin; I have to go too. I am leaving my own wife as well,"

Alexi looked at his cousin with some loathing, "A wife who probably doesn't _darken_ our family."

Yorgi narrowed his eyes at him, but Sandonsky rose a hand before Yorgi could answer the insult.

"Son, you and Yorgi leave at the end of the week for duty. I had your enrollment postponed just long enough for you to visit."

Alexi shook his head, swept up by lost emotions and despair, "I have no militant background."

"You'll learn," Yorgi answered.

"What about my family?"

"Send them back to France. They are welome here so long as you are here. As soon as you leave, they must return to that damned opera house, the whore and her bastard child."

Alexi stood then, anger at his father, despair for his future, hate at his cousin, and with one fast swipe, slapped his father. Without any further hesitance, he turned on his heel and went to join the women.

Michelle could see his despair when he and the other men returned from their small conference. Rayleene knew what the conversation was about, judging by her very sudden pale expression. Michelle was less certain about what the topic had been, but noticed a fresh hand imprint on the said of Misseur Sandonsky Gregorsky.

"Alexi?" Michelle asked, as he sat beside her and Symon, shaken by whatever had just occured in their arrival.

"It's nothing my dear," he answered kissing her cheek, in her ear he whispered, "I'll tell you later."

She gulped, trembling slightly, but she held herself together and smiled at Madame Rayleene.

"We were just discussing what she guessed the child might be within," Rayleene remarked to her husband as he sat stiffly beside her.

"A son, I would imagine."

"Oh contrary, my dear husband," Rayleene answered, "I think it's a girl."

"You always wanted a girl," Sandonsky answered.

At nightfall, Alexi told Michelle what had been said between the three men, explaining the sudden drafting issue that had occurred. Michelle listened carefully as Symon dreamed. She took it hard, but better than she had feared she might. She didn't want to wail into Alexi's embrace, but she didn't enjoy the news at all.

"I will return to you, my love," he answered.

"I know," she embraced him tightly as they sat on the edge of the guest bed provided to them, "And I will wait for your return,"

"I will see you to the train station before I leave," he said carefully.

She squeezed her eyes shut; then the tears had come. She was hated here, for being a previously single mother of a son with no father.

Rayleene seemed to love him, but Sandonsky was a whole other story. He hated them fromt he moment his eyes laid on them. Michelle wept for her husband, for making him look bad in front of his family.

"It's not your fault, it's society. I love you, Michelle; ever since the finale of _A Midsummer Night's Dream_, I have always loved you. What my family thinks won't change it." He ran his fingers in her hair, and along her spine, "I love you Michelle Gregorsky,"

"And I you, Alexi Gregorsky," the last word stumbled a bit on her tongue, but he knew what she said was truth.


	26. Chapter 26

Michelle slept beside her husband with less than joy in her heart. The news that he was being forced into a war that he wanted no part of was absurd. He was more of a frenchman now than when he was Russian. She wanted him to go home with her-with Symon.

She didn't want to have a broken family. There were too many of those in her life to suddenly get another one. She hadn't even been married to Alexi for an entire year.

And besides, she was having his child, with or without his family's approval.

The following morning however seemed much like the previous day as she and Symon seemed less and less welcome by Alexi's father Sandonsky, and Rayleene was starting to follow in his footsteps. Michelle sensed that it was because she was not as independent as Michelle, making her envious.

Symon was slightly oblivious, since they were permitted to enter a different parlor, and he was granted the ability to play the piano. Symon not being a total misfit in his concept of music despite his age, and played cheap simple tunes.

"It's so strange that one that is barely four has the ability to play so well," Rayleene remarked, "You must have had a good tutor for him,"

"Not really," she answered mildly.

"Do you play?"

"No, ma'am," Michelle answered watching Symon.

"Then what did you do to get into the Opera Popular?"

"Sing," Michelle answered simply.

"Oh," she answered, "Proficiently?"

"Somewhat . . . at least well enough for myself and my previous employers." she flashed a mild smile at Rayleene.

"Do you still sing?" she sounded skeptic.

"On occasion," Michelle lied. She missed the privacy of her old office where she would sing until her body ached.

"You should have seen her at the finale, Raoul took me to." Alexi remarked joining them from doing paperwork, regarding his draft.

"Ah, my boy, I am sure you exaggerate things," Sandonsky countered.

"Not really," he answered his father in a matter-of-factly tone.

Sandonsky rose his brow at Alexi, but didn't speak of it further, as his wife continued.

"Perhaps you could give me a listen some afternoon, of what it was that enchanted my son so deeply,"

"Perhaps before we depart." Michelle answered.

Alexi pushed a lock of his light colored hair behind one ear, "At least before I do," he grinned.

Sandonsky flashed his wife a sharp look not daring to give one to his son.

"Of course," Rayleene's brow troubled by Alexi's counter-proposal.

They sat in silence, as Symon carefully closed the piano cover and joined his father, sitting beside him, oblivious to what was to happen to them all in the near future.

Alexi watched as his wife slept the following night, his mind a mess of despair and sadness. His wife slept restlessly, in contrary to their son. He didn't understand why his father didn't approve of Symona and Michelle beyond the old traditions, but times were changing outside of Russia, and this was the woman he had married, and made love and life with. He didn't want anything different.

Sandonsky clearly had other plans.

Alexi knew that if Sandonsky really wanted, Alexi could have ran out of Russia again like he had when they were younger. But apparently Michelle and Symon made all the difference.

He was going to be fighting in a battle that was not his own, and worst of all, he had no idea how to fight.

_"You'll be alright," Yorgi had reassured him, "I've done this once or twice."_

_"What if I die out there? I have family," _

_"Then a message will be sent to them, and you will be buried out here in the old cemetry."_

_"But I would rather be buried in Paris. It's my home," Alexi protested as Sandonsky had entered._

_"Then you had better not die; I won't pay for you to return to your so-called family."_

_"What the bloody hell do you have against them? They have done nothing wrong!"_

_"You're right, but that woman is not meant for you. She has bedded someone else. She belongs in that moulin rouge thing in Paris-not the opera house." _

_That was the first time he had slapped his father. He had never dared in all his life, but this was his family now, and his father had no right to speak so ill of them. _

Alexi swallowed troubled reflecting on the actions he had done.

Alexi followed his wife and son to the trainstation, and held them tightly, fighting tears from his son and wife fearing of the pain he would cause them if they saw his emotions. He was dressed in his uniform already, blue jacket and gray pants. His wife had remarked him having a lion like look to him in the uniform, which made him grin broadly.

"I love you," he whispered into his wife's ear as they stood near the train.

"And I too, love you so much," she answered, her voice shakey and it tore at his heart strings.

Symon had looked at him sadly, but he didn't cry. Alexi gave him a loving fatherly embrace.

"When will you be home, dadda?"

"Soon," he answered, "As soon as I can."

"Okay," he was confident in his father fearless of his answers.

He lowered Symon, and from his neck removed a silver crusifix he had worn when around his parents. It was an old family keepsake, but Symon was his family. He wanted _his _son to have it. It seemed strange. Symon wasn't his blood son, but he was still the one that called him 'dadda,' and let him tuck him in at night. He was going to miss these fatherly things.

He prayed that he would be able to do more for them in the future.

"You should get on board," he told his wife camly.

"We should," taking Symon's hand, she started to turn, but froze in midstep, but turned on her heel again letting go of Symon and embraced him again, tears forming on her face that was clearly unable to be held back further.

His arms matched her sudden flush of emotion, and he didn't realize that his own tears had begun to make small streams on his face until his wife pulled away.

"Come back to us," she whispered, giving him a final kiss, and in one sweep caught her son's hand and entered the train.

Alexi stood watching them board the train, their things already inside, and forcing himself to stop crying, watched them with a solem stare until the train pulled out of the station. When the train was out of view, he turned to his cousin who had accompanied them, and looked at him with such pain that his cousin actually flinched.

Then Yorgi laughed.

"Oh if only your uncle was here,"

"Why?" Alexi asked as they returned to the carriage that was to take them to the militant outpost.

"He might have actually seen what you did when you saw Michelle for the first time."

"So you approve of them then?"

"I do now," Yorgi rested his arm around his cousin's shoulders for a brief moment, and then into the carriage they went.

Michelle did her best to keep herself composed when she was in front of her son, in the cabin, but she felt herself quiver with such painful anxiety, that it was hard to hold the tears back. Symon seemed not to notice her tears, as he stared at the cross that Alexi had placed around his neck.

"When will dadda' join us again?" he asked innocently.

"Soon, my dearest, soon."

They sat in silence on the train, the land of Russia rolling past them as they returned west-to France and everything that they had once had. There was much to do and things that she would have to say. Most of it she wouldn't want to, but she would especially when she faced her dear friend Carlotta.

"Who will teach me mathmatics now?" Symon asked after what was most likely a couple of hours.

"I will find someone . . .," in truth though, she had no idea. Perhaps one of her colleagues had connections.

A knock came at the door and Michelle opened it to one of the wait-staff members.

"Yes?"

"A telegraph came for you, ma'am," he handed her a yellow envelope the size of a postcard, that seemed harmless.

Or so she had hoped.

_My darling sister Michelle Grgorsky [STOP] Please return immediatly to Paris[STOP] Opera house burnt last night [STOP] Some casualties [STOP] Won't be able to fix this mess, noo matter the costs [STOP] Please hurry [STOP] Yours tuly, Carlotta [STOP]_

She looked at the wait-staff member, "When did this arrive?"

"An hour ago, ma'am,"

"How come this didn't reach my hands sooner?"

"We have had a back-up of sudden telegraphs being delivered to passengers on board." he hesitated, "In your case though I fear to say, I wish you had recieved this sooner."

"No, it came in time," Michelle answered swallowing down a new rush of emotions, folding the telegram and slipping it into a pocket, and after tipping the staff, closed the door, and re-read the letter in sadness.

"What is it?"

"There has been an accident." Michelle told him calmly.

"Dadda?"

"No sweetie, in Paris."

"What happened?"

"The school was on fire last night,"

"And?"

"Well, I don't know the whole story, my dear. We will find out soon enough."

Only too soon did she as a different wait-staff member brought her a newspaper, and food for her and her son. The opera house was a feature story that had little to say but the photograph was more than she had desired to see. She folded the paper up and slid it aside.

As the train arrived at the Parisan station two days later, they went to their true home that they had shared with Alexi, unpacked their things, and went to Carlotta's.

She was slightly tipsy when they arrived, but she had been worse in front of Symon. She looked at the two of them, sipping her brandy, and talking to Albert over her shoulder.

"Michelle! I am so happy that you have returned!" she bounded over to her and Symon, "My darling nephew!" her two dogs bounded to Symon with obvious and undoubtable joy.

"Hello,"

"Michelle, did you get my wire?"

"Yes," she dropped her gaze, "How bad?"

"Worse than what Erik did." she frowned, "Too bad-we've done so much to it."

"How did it start?"

"How long have you been home?"

"Long enough," Michelle answered.

"Come, it's best if I show you the damage." she glanced down at Symon, "Wanna' come?"

He nodded, and took her hand.

Carlotta hadn't been exaggerating; the building was ruined pretty much save the stone structure, and parts of the roof. They stared in awed silence for a while.

"How did it start Carlotta?"

"Someone said it was a gas leak." her voice sounded haunted.

"How many are dead?"

"Eighty-five," Carlotta answered.

Michelle stared at it mournfully. She closed her eyes wishing that if she had been here that perhaps she could have caught the leak in time.

"Take Symon back to your place-I am going to go in and look around."

Carlotta rose her brow, but did as she was told.

As they walked away she watched as Carlotta asked Symon, "So where is Alexi at?"

"Home, doing his duty."

"And what duty is that?"

"War,"

Michelle could almost hear her friend's brow rise, as Symon said 'war'. She didn't make them turn around to inquire further, so Michelle turned on her heels and went inside.

The disaster must have been great. Caution tape was everywhere, but there was obvious signs that people had gone through the boundary. She followed the steps beyond the tape to the girls dormatory, where what she saw she could have hoped otherwise.

Impressions on each bed that had been assigned to a student had imprints from where they had slept as the fire consumed their bodies. What was more revolting was that none of them seemed to have struggled against the raging flames.

She turned away and retrated to what had been her office. This too was burnt severely, her old silver photograph of her parents was ruined, the mirrors and nicities that she had once had were gone. The false wall that she had used to cover the entry to Erik's old domain however was unrevealed to the populace. The wall was still in tact.

She felt like breathing a small breath of relief, but it was pointless now. She had lost everything, and she now had nearly ninty lives on her hands whom she failed to protect. They had been put into her care, and she had failed them.

She went to the staff domatory, only to find more despair. Bodies here left imprints on the bed, and a couple had actually been awake here. Silouhettes, were pressed together in the corner of the room. She could almost hear the invisible screams here as heavily as she had once felt in the main theatre.

The theatre . . .

She turned and entered the closest entryway to the main theatre where once she had co-directed _Don Juan_, and felt the rush of failure hit her full in the face. the fires had blackend things more than they had been, the ceiling was black and peeling, and the gold statues that had been in the process of remodeling, were lost causes now.

She walked to the stage, and upon standing on it, felt the creak of weakened boards.

_I shouldn't be here,_ she thought, but she had to see the full extent of the damage, in order to tell herself that this was now a lost cause.

She didn't have to tell herself that, as she walked along the planks to find that there was nothing she could do now with what funds were left. She dropped her head, as tears formed in the corner of her eyes. The old screams here seemed to laugh at her now more than cry out.

What was she to do now?

_Move on Michelle,_ she tried to tell herself, as she turned away from the main theatre, and returned to her office. Nothing here was untouched now. She opened the door and entered, closing the ruined the door behind her. She was no longer thinking as she moved the false wall away, and made her way down the dark hallway, and into the labrynth of her old life.

_I should just be rid of myself, here and now, _ she thought but she didn't jump over the stair-rails, her heart strings telling her that she had to wait for her lover to return.

Her husband, Alexi Gregorsky.

She muttered prayers as she wallked finding herself at the edge of the lagoon below the opera house. The domain untouched by fire. She looked down at her dress, a dark blue dress with black trim. She hadn't changed since the day she had left Russia, and her body screamed for a shower, and clean clothes.

_I must leave this place for good,_ she tried to convince herself, but it was pointless. This was her home no matter whom or what got in the way. She closed her eyes, and told herself that she would come back here, to seek closure, and turned, heading for the surface above. She sealed the false wall back into place, and returned to Carlotta and her son.

Symon was asleep when Michelle returned to Carlotta's home that she shared with Albert Hauster. They were waiting for her.

"So, war is why he's not back, Michelle?"

She nodded, sitting down on one of their since chairs in the parlor, "Yes, war. To stop the rise of Communism."

"Alexi is not made for war," Albert remarked, smoothing his dark hair behind him still obviously in shock.

"No," Michelle agreed, "Despite looking good in a uniform, he was made for Paris, not Russia."

They sat in silence for a while.

"I would offer you a drink, my dear but I know that you won't permit yourself any until Alexi's child is off your breast." Carlotta noted pouring herself and Albert a drink.

"Thank you Carlotta, but I don't think a drink would be a good thing even if I was not with child." she didn't elaborate further as they began the heavy discussion of what to do with the building and how to settle the new finances that came with a lost cause.


	27. Chapter 27

Michelle kept the building, but she no longer had the will to repair it. She took up Alexi's absent position as bookkeeper, along side Carlotta who was better with paperwork, but Michelle needed a new trade. She didn't draw as nice of a paycheck as she had with the opera house, but at least she was able to pay for food and clothing for her son. She taught Symon what she could about academics, but she found herself teaching herself alongside Symon, a nicity while trying to be a bookkeeper.

Albert was accomodating to her needs and seemed to have lightened up since their first visit. Perhaps it was because of Carlotta, but even some of the co-workers who hadn't been so fond were pleasant. Madame Hauster, Ablert's sister permitted her to call her by her first name, Pamela.

It was nice, but deep down Michelle missed her ability to sing her heart out, and her soul craved the ability. She didn't fret over it much, until a month later when while filing her paperwork for a partner company, her water broke.

On May 25th, 1902, Rachell Gregorsky took her first breath. The child weighed in at seven pounds even, and had a screech of a wail.

Michelle felt exhausted, but the exhillaration of having a daughter stirred her emotions, as Symon came in to see his new sister.

"Symon, meet your little sister Rachell."

He stared at her in awe, Rachell's tiny eyes were closed for the time, but she looked like a small angel.

Carlotta came in with Albert, whom were listed as direct family to see her, since Alexi couldn't be here with her, and Carlotta gushed as she stared at the tiny child.

"She's adorable, my darling," she sat beside Michelle pulling Symon into her lap so he had a better vantage point.

Albert didn't have much to say but the obvious mesmerizement of new life seemed to have taken his tongue.

"Albie?" Carlotta looked up to her husband.

He looked at his wife, and smiled tenderly, as if she had been the one to give birth. "You sure you don't want kids, my dear?"

Carlotta laughed and turned her attention back to Michelle's little bundle of joy.

They checked Michelle out a couple days later, and returned to her to the apartment that she lived in with Symon, and now Rachell.

"If you need anything, come and get us, will you?" Carlotta asked as she and Michelle sat in her parlor.

"I will," she sighed, "I wish Alexi could have been here,"

"Me too," she paused, "He would have been proud of the child you have beared for him."

"She's not just for him, my dear," Michelle countered, "She's for all of us," she stroked a pale red-gold lock of hair away. from her daughter's face.

Carlotta smiled, "Good, because I was hoping to spend some time with her when she's more aware like Symon is now." she paused, "Do you think she'll have any talents like Symon has for music at an early age?"

"It won't matter to me if she does or doesn't," Michelle answered smiling.

_May 28th, 1902_

_My dearest Alexi,_

_I pray that this letter finds you well, and in good hands that will bring you home to me one day. I miss you each night as I go to bed, and I am so sorry that I haven't written sooner. I wish I had now that I think about it. There's so much to tell . . . _

_I guess I shall begin with good news; Rachell Gregorsky. She's only three days old, yet she is quite an amazing little darling. I look forward to the day that you return to meet your little princess. Symon loves her already which is so pleasant. _

_And now for the not so lovely news . . . The Opera Popular is gone. The building still stands but as I saw, all the work Carlotta and I put into the building is gone. There was supposedly a gas leak that set off the opera house. Nearly ninety people died . . . I fear that these deaths shall haunt me for the rest of my life. I should have been here to do something. _

_You are always in my heart, Alexi. I look forward to the day you return to me. _

_Love,_

_Michelle _

Symon turned four within the following month. It felt like a shock as she celebrated it with her son and daughter, as well as Carlotta, Albert, and Pamela. Carlotta's dogs Liam and Elma also were brought, since Symon was so fond of them. Rachell was oblivious to what was occurring as her mother held her close, but Michelle knew that she enjoyed the positive atmosphere of a party; she giggled most of the night, save when she really needed something.

Symon had a pleasent time it seemed as he was showered with not man gifts but they were ones he would cherish over his liftime. Albert's gift were books, mostly reading, but some were acadamia related. Pamela also gave him reading materials, but Carlotta' gift he treasured most; a small piano fit to his small stature. Michelle had given him a book of musical notation, which he eagerly wanted to learn. She had coordinated the gift with Carlotta who wwanted to be well . . . a pampering aunt to some extent. Michelle did her best to forbid pampering but Symon was far too happy with music for her to forbid this gift.

He was wearing his father's cross often-nearly every day. He'd forgotten once or twice, but he had been bothered by the fact he wasn't wearing his father close to his heart. He asked his mother once a week if she knew when dadda' was coming home, but each day was the same answer;

"I do not know my darling,"

He would nod and then give attention to his little sister.

A letter cae for Michelle from Rayleene Gregorsky, a shock for Michelle but she wasn't suprised;

_My dear Michelle,_

_Word has reached me from my dear son Alexi that his child has been born. I know that you and my dear husband Sandonsky are not fond of one another, so I would like your approval to come to Paris on my own to see her. _

_Please write me back with your answer soon. I have letters for you also from Alexi. I do not know why he doesn't send them directly to you, but perhaps with the chaos out there on the battle field he feels safer sending them to family in-country? _

_Fondest regards,_

_Rayleene Gregorsky_

Michelle was uncertain how to answer, twisted emotions rung in her gut, but she answered anyway;

_Greetings Madame Rayleene Gregorsky,_

_Symon and I would be happy for you to come and stay with us for a while, so you can see Rachell. _

_I believe you are right about the letters going into your hands rather than mine directly. I look forward to reading them. It's been hard living without him, but we are getting by quite well. _

_We look forward to your arrival, please send us a telegraph when you depart from Russia, so we can at least meet you at the train station. _

_Sincerely,_

_Michelle Gregorsky and family_

Rayleene didn't seem to hesitate as a month barely passed, a wire came informing them that she was on her way. They waited two days and then the three of them, Michelle Symon and Rachell went out to meet Madame Gregorsky.

She carried little, suggesting she wouldn't be staying long, but she was dressed well, and handed the letters immediatly over to Michelle.

"You will find that the seals haven't been broken yet. I felt that you should read them and if necessary then you are welcome to tell me about it." her eyes watered when she saw Rachell, "She's beautiful,"

"She's only a couple months old, madame,"

"Yes, indeed," she answered.

"Shall we adjourn back to my home?" Michelle asked Rayleene.

"Of course,"

They walked in silence, but immediatly she felt bad vibes from Rayleene since she hadn't even greeted her son.

"Have I done something wrong?" he asked in a low tone.

"No my dear, she's clearly tired from her journey," she answered calmly escorting everyone to the carriage.

Michelle watched as Rayleene took Rachell into her arms and smiled kindly.

"She's beautiful," she spoke more to herself than anyone else. Symon sat beside her mother waiting calmly, watching as Rayleene spoke to the child kindly.

"Momma?" Symon looked up at her.

"Yes?"

"Does father know she's here?"

"I'd like to think he does,"

"Why?"

"It might make him smile while he's out there in the battle."

Symon sat there in silence, and then said, "I love you momma,"

"I love you too, my darling boy."

Rayleene returned Rachell to Michelle and grinned, "She's going to be a wonderful child. You will writ eme on occasion and tell me about her progress?"

"I should like to think that I would write about _both_ of my children to you."

It seemed like then that she finally noticed Symon, "Of course . . . nothing would please me better."

Michelle didn't read the letters until Rayleene left, her heart drummed in her ears as she broke the seal on the earliest dated letter. Her mind reflected on the one week of Rayleene's visit; the elder woman had barely been curtious to her son, and on the final day she corned Rayleene on it.

_"What the hell is wrong with you, Rayleene?"_

_"I beg your pardon?" she was flustered by her language._

_"You heard me, Rayleene; what is so wrong with my son that you cannot bear to be kind to him?"_

_She didn't answer directly as she began to stumble over the words, trying to find the right answer. _

_"My son, is most adored by Alexi. He has never complained about Symon ever." she paused recalling the only time he ever said anything under positive but even then it was because she wasn't ready to include Alexi in her life. But that had been long ago, "If you even dare to try to be a grandmother for my daughter in the future, you must include my son, or never return."_

_"How dare you!"_

_"No, how dare you play favorites between children. Your presence here has hurt Symon, and I cannot do anything about it." she paused, "When you leave, I want you to think about how Alexi would have given you this same speech, if he had been here."_

_"He wouldn't," she sputtered._

_"Oh but he would," Michelle cut her off, "Symon knows only Alexi as his father, and Alexi has adopted the role without asking it of me. I cannot have asked for anything better for Symon."_

_Rayleene was clearly trying to come up with an answer._

_"Now as I understand it, Russians are picky about people with bastard children, but so long as Alexi chooses Symon as his son, then I expect the same to go for you, and Sandonky. Rachell may be blood, but that means nothing to either one of us."_

_"Rachell,"_

_"No, Rachell is Symon's sister. I am their mother, and if you really want any part in their lives then you will learn to treat them equally. Understood?"_

She hadn't waited for an answer, she recalled. Nor had Rayleene changed over the last day, instead she had left early, and she didn't see her off. Instead Michelle stayed at home with her children.

Now she read her husband's letters.

_My darling Michelle,_

_I guess it's been two weeks since I saw you but I already miss you dearly. I truly hope this doesn't take long. I look for excuses to leave often. I want to be there when our child is born. _

_The life as a soldier isn't terrible. It's been a lot of training, really. It's not to my liking though. I hate the idea of taking lives, and yet I find myself target practicing to relieve my stress. I am not a bad shot, but I do not want it to affect my life when I return to you and Symon. _

_Yorgi keeps tabs on me often and sends letters to my parents. Apparently Aunt Kendra and Uncle Benjen are dead. Not that I truly care; they were never good to me anyway-especially when I told them I wasn't coming back to Russia long ago when I had first moved out to France with my parents. _

_I am so sorry for the way my parents treated you and Symon. It's an old tradition, that I wish would be abolished soon. No matter what my parents say, Symon is my son. I miss him every day . . . teaching him early academics. He was so smart . . . I hope that you will continue where I left off-if you need help I think Albert would be willing to help. He used to let me have an extra ten minutes at lunch to teach. _

_I love you most Michelle, and I miss you dearly. You are in my dreams each night and I look forward to when I come home to you. _

_Love,_

_Alexi_

_~~ *(*(() ***&&& ()*_

She opened the last letter deciding that she wouldn't be able to read them all in perfection tonight;

_My darling Michelle, _

_Your letter reached me regarding our daughter. I look forward to the day I finally get to meet her. Rachell . . . a pretty name. The boys in the squadron that I accompany gave me flack for the many letters I tend to write dedicated to you, but I tend to ignore it all. Clearly they haven't met any angels yet. _

_We are near Moscow, I think-on the north east end of its outskirts. It's cold here despite it being summer time. There's still some snow out and I cannot wait to come home to the normal weather patterns of Paris. _

_I am sorry to hear about the Opera Popular. I know how much it meant to you and Carlotta. I hope you are able to find some aid from the community to at least keep the two of you busy. And don't let the ninety deaths haunt you; it wasn't your fault that you couldn't have seen it before hand. If you had stayed then there is a chance that you and Rachell wouldn't be here today. Something I couldn't live with._

_How is Symon? I miss him dearly. I recall how he could play the piano with more grace than any young child I know can. I hope that you consider letting him play and see what happens with that talent. Do you teach him any academcs beyond music? It's his birthday tomorrow by my count-would you wish him happy birthday for me? I want to be there to watch him celebrate being four years old. It's hard to believe that he's only four based on his manners, but you're a good mother; he gets his good manners from you. _

_I look forward to coming home to you, Michelle. My hair isn't as long as it was when you last saw it-it was shaved off when I was put into the field. It's cold but the occasional shot of vodka helps stiffle the coldness. I am sure it's relativly warm in Paris now. _

_I miss you, Michelle. Pray that I return to your loving arms._

_Love,_

_Alexi_

_*(*(* ^%%#$% &*^^_))_

Michelle placed the letters in a drawer, and closed her eyes, as tears fell from her cheeks. She missed him dearly, and being a mother of two was hard with no help. She would finish reading the other letters when she was more herself.

Michelle had taken to trying to contact Carlotta for less and less of her issues with life, as she soon weened Rachell off the breast and onto other methods of milk drinking. She was a healthy child, and she was more squirmish than Symon had been but she loved Rachell just as much as she had loved Symon at that age.

Symon, despite Rayleene, moved on and became a huge help when dealing with Rachell's needs. He played his piano often, but he and Michelle took to working on his other academic skills; spelling and grammar, along with early math and art.

He was brilliant, and Michelle found herself awe-struck by his ability to learn things so easily. She had been good at it when she was young like him, but not this good. Perhaps it was his blood father, but they both knew better; Alexi had been a good influence.


	28. Chapter 28

Two letters came directly to Michelle Gregorsky one afternoon as she read to her daughter now four, and her brother of the age of eight. The door had been knocked and she had put the book down and went to the door to see the post master.

"Greetings ma'am,"

"Greetings ser; what can I do for you?"

"Delivery, madam; two letters." he passed them to her from his shoulder bag.

"Splendid, thank you."

She closed the door, and with her hack to the door, she leaned against it's cold wooden surface, and read the return addresses; The first was a letter from Madame Anne Giry, and the other was from the Russian Militry. Her brows furrowed at each. She still prayed each night for Alexi's return, though she hadn't received his letters. Rayleene never returned after that one visit. It had been nice to read all the letters, detailing life in the service and the thoughts that he had while out in the Russian lands.

As for Madame Giry's sudden letter, she was tempted to throw it out. It was the year 1906, and life in Paris was under stressful times. She didn't want to really hear anything particular out of America. But she opened it first hoping that the first was an answer to her prayers.

_Greetings Michelle;_

_I pray all is well in Paris-we heard about the fire that happened under your care and we wanted to send our condolences. Yes, this was four fitful years ago, but things in America are growing . . . dark. I fear war is on the verge of happening in America. _

_I know it's been a long time since we saw each other or even written, but I wanted to send you some news in case you are unaware of it already; Christine's son Gustave . . . is not Raoul's. I am certain you knew but in case you weren't, I thought you ought to be aware in case they come to Paris. Erik has proposed to Christine, however despite being lawfully separated from Raoul, she won't divorce him. I am not sure why, and even Meg isn't certain; Christine won't tell us but she get's fitfully upset when we inquire about it. _

_I know that this isn't a great letter to write, my dear friend, but I just needed to write this to you. Write me and let me know how you are? We do miss you, and speak of you on occasion._

_Sincerely,_

_Madame Giry_

Michelle set Madame Giry's letter aside and opened the other her heart drumming in her ears in prayer as she hoped the news she was about to read was good.

_September 29th, 1906_

_Dear Madame Michelle Gregorsky;_

_We would like to notify you of your husband's discharge. Alexi Gregorsky has been released at the end of his service and will be permitted to return to Paris as soon as the paperwork has been cleared. He should be exptected to leave the country at the end of the week._

_We have been informed to send this notification directly to you under request of Alexi himself. _

_Have a nice day._

_Sincerely,_

_General T. Haunstoy_

Michelle's brows were unfurrowed, but her heart leapt to her throat, as she smiled, a silent giggle grew from her chest. The tears of joy met the corners of eyes and down her face. Symon walked up to his mother whol now sat on the floor trying to wipe the tears away.

"Momma? What is it?"

She looked up at him and smiled. She considered tellign him, but then again, handed him the letter to read. He was smart enough to understand the letter, he was an exceptional reader.

He read it carefully the looked at her calmly, "So next week?"

She nodded her joy mellowing out to consern as to if Symon was happy.

Symon dropped to his knees beside his mother and embraced her, "I am happy dad's coming home."

"Are you?" she asked when he pulled away.

He nodded but didn't speak.

"What's the matter sweetie?"

"I don't remember what he looks like beyond the photograph we took on your wedding."

Michelle smiled warmly, "It's okay; I know he will remember you." She had allowed him to read his father's letters when he was older-three months ago, as a small contribution to his birthday. He hadn't asked any questions, but seemed to glow by the words on the pages.

"You think so?"

"Of course,"

"What about Rachell?"

"What about her?"

"He doeesn't know her,"

"No, he hasn't met her, but I am sure that he will love her as much as he loves you my dear."

Rachell came out to the entry hall where the two were talking, "What's going on, momma?"

"Dad's coming home, sister." Symon answered.

She stared at them for a minute and then asked, "This is a good thing?"

"Yes, why?"

"Mom's crying."

"Happy tears sister; like when you laugh too hard."

"Oh,"

Michelle slid Madame Giry's letter into the nearest trash bin, and embraced her children.

Carlotta opened her front door to Michelle and her children on a warm Sunday afternoon.

"Why kids! It's been a while since you came to see your aunt."

The two children embraced her and then went to Liam and Elma, who were getting very old ffor their doggie bodies. It reminded Carlotta of how old she was, and it bothered her that time had taken all of her age before she could really live outside of the opera house.

"It has," Michelle answered for them, embracing her friend.

"What's the occasion?"

She handed her the letter from the Russian Militry. Carlotta read it carefully and smiled broadly.

"This is good news; shall we drink to this?"

Albert came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, and read over her shoulder, "I think we should."

"Good," Carlotta agreed, "Then we break out the brandy,"

"Sherry," Albert corrected, "This is a very special occasion."

Carlotta nodded, and poured the glasses, "To the return of our beloved!"

Michelle rose her glass, "To the return of beloved," she agreed.

"So when does he return?" Albert asked.

"The estimate is next week,"

"Splendid. You will have to come by as soon as he's settled in and we will have to celebrate!"

"Sounds lovely,"

The week flew by, but in Michelle's heart it took a lifetime of waiting. Four years had been nothing in compare to now, but the days ticked away, as she made her way through Paris seeking out simple pleasures to welcome her beloved again. She waited on the following Saturday morning, her son and daughter at her sides, a red rose cradled in her fingers. Anticipation rose in her throat as she watched people come and go, some waited alongside her family that she wasn't familiar with but they were innocently waiting for their own people.

A large steam engine pulled in a regular train with Paris registration tags, but the cars pulled by and the whoosh of voices swam over the station, and steam from the engine rose up and around the tracks dancing over the platform. She rose from the bench, to see above some of the heads, but there only few that she stood slightly taller to, and she found herself waiting.

People came and went then in a rush of excited voices and tearful happieness, and yet, as Michelle sat down with her children again, she didn't let her hope falter. As the people began to fianlly clear out, the train moved forwards again so other passenger cars could access the platform. She rose again as the car doors opened and this time with less people rushing forward she was able to see the the passengers unload. Her eyes eager, she looked about quickly, her heart in her throat.

"Momma?" Symon tugged at her sleeve.

"Yes?"

He pointed to the very far end where militant men shuffled out from the train still in uniform, some dirty, and unshaven. Others hung their head high, and others low. A handful of women went to them, the men splitting from the group to join them. Michelle walked in the direction of the militant men, her children followed her quickly. Her eyes studied each man not clung to by a woman. Then from behind her she felt the distinct feeling of being watched.

She turned and it was almost instant as the familiar green blue eyes met her sharp emeralds. The face had changed, but that was not as important. She nearly froze, their eyes held an invisible connection that felt as if time had stopped, heartbeats came in very long successions.

She took a step, but she was moving faster than she had imagined she might and in a short span of time closed the gap on her beloved. She could hear her children close to her heels, and she knew she should feel horrible for leaving them behind.

Warm arms enveloped her into an embrace, lips met instantly. The world could have not existed anymore as far as Michelle was conserned now in the arms of the man she had married.

"Welcome home Alexi," Her hand cupping the cheek of her husband's scared face. A diagonal cut ran from one side of his forehead to his chin.

"Indeed," he kissed her again. "Oh how I missed this," he smiled at her gently.

Symon stood beside Michelle holding her sister's hand patiently.

"Symon," he grinned kneeling down to his son.

Symon seemed to have forgotten his fears from the previous week, and leapt into his arms, the silver cross still around his neck slightly tarnished, but still with it's full integrity flashed briefly as he made the quick move into his father's arms, "Dad!"

He held him tightly then looked to Rachell; neither knew what to say, so Symon spoke up.

"Dad, this is Rachell. Rachell, this is your father."

Rachell didn't move for a long moment, but then broke the ice by embracing Alexi.

He answered her gesture hoisting her up into his arms, and holding Symon's hand with a free hand, he turned to his wife.

"Shall we go home?"

"Yes," she answered, calmly following alongside her family.


	29. Chapter 29

Gustave sat beside his father as they rode the ship crossing the sea. The weather was overcast, the sea underneath them dark yet the sea life seemed lacking after they left port some days ago. There had been some jelly fish couple miles off port, but nothing exquisite since.

He pushed his dark hair back from his forhead and looked to his father Erik. He had taken to wearing his mask again. Perhaps it was habit, but Gustave knew something was wrong beyond returning to France so Christine could be buried in the land that she loved the most. She had been dead almost a month now, but he had paid everyone responsible for seeing that her body was properly cared for before they could bury her.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"What is wrong?" Gustave was near twenty, and handsome like his father.

He shook his head watching the water ripple over the rail. He was acting odd, and sooner or later they would figure it out.

"I'll tell you later,"

Gustave rose his brow and returned to watching the sea below them waiting for any sign of life.

"You've told Raoul that we are coming?"

"Yes," Gustave answered his father.

"Good," he answered without emotion.

"Dad,"

Erik threw him one of those looks that commanded obedience; no more inquiring.

Defeated for now, Gustave wandered back into the ship without another word.

Erik watched him leave, his heart broken, and lost. He had spent less than two decades with his love Christine . . . a battle he couldn't win. He had won her heart but she never divorced Raoul. Raoul won despite losing his wife and son.

Christine . . . a death he couldn't have anticipated in occurring. An early death brought on by some drunk in one of those new machines . . . a prototype of an _"automotive"_. It drove Erik mad for ten days, both song and drink could barely keep the emotions down. Gustave had sat back and let his father have his melt down.

_I should have known better,_ he tried to tell himself, but then again as he stared into the dark sea he recalled the day he contacted Madame Giry about the death of Christine.

_"Dead? I am so sorry to hear this news." she paused, "She should be taken back to Paris. It was her home."_

_"But," _

_"Erik, just do this for her. She loved France. It was you who seduced her into staying in America."_

_Erik barely met his old friend's gaze. _

He broke off his train of thought as a newspaper carrier handed him a copy of a French newspaper. He politely tipped the man, and returned to the shelter of the cabins within to read the paper despite never having any interest before.

He joined his son, who was already scanning through his own copy of the paper, and frowned.

"What is it?" he glanced at his son.

"Nothing," he answered. It probably wasn't anything important since the section he was flicking through was the 'sports' section.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes,"

Erik shrugged and continued to read through the paper, and despite wanting to avoid any dark stories he found himself reading the obituaries.

_What am I looking for? _ he asked himself trying to understnad why he was reading the dead section. He would be one of these people soon enough, but why . . . then the answer hit him hard as his eyes grazed over a familiar name.

_Michelle Le'Clair'e Gregorsky._

He held his breath for a moment and read carefully. The name however was a reference to people who supported someone. His eyes flicked up the colum to the top of the particular record;

_Alexi Renault Gregorsky_

_b. September 10th, 1852 d. November 17th 1917._

_Lived with wife Michelle Le'Clair'e Gregorsky, and two children Symon Le'Clair'e and Rachell Gregorsky. Former soldier of Russia, bookkepper at 'Hauster's Books and Fine Records'. Dear friend with boss Ablert Hauster and wife Carlotta Hauster. Well respected . . . _

Erik stopped reading.

"Father?" Gustave's brow rose, and with a finger, tipped his father's section of the newspaper down to see what had obviously caught his special attention. "Crap, you're reading the obituaries?"

Erik didn't answer.

"Father?"

"It's nothing," he answered, closing the pages, and folding his paper up back to its original state.

"A lie,"

"No," Erik answered, "A mishap, that's all."

Erik lay in bed that night however wondering about his old friend Michelle Le'Clair'e.

_Gregorsky,_ he reminded himself as he stared up into the darkness of the cabin he shared with his son.

Did she miss him these days? What was she doing with the opera house since the gas fire that had caused the death of ninety people? It had been twenty years since he had seen her. She had to look way older than he could last remember, but it was hard to picture Michelle aging. Then again, he had never dreamed he would age either.

He remembered how he used to awaken with wet spots on his pillow, at first he was in disbelief that he could drool, but it turned out he cried in his sleep. After the death of Christine it had been for her, but before her . . . on the first few months away from the Opera Popular, he missed his old friend whom he had let down so badly while writing _Don Juan._ He had told her off-the last straw, when she confessed being with child.

He regretted not staying for her or not taking her away with him when he went to America.

But now he had Gustave, his son, and they were going to France together with Christine.

_My son . . . _

Symon Le'Clair'e.

He had never given Michelle a surname for their child he recalled, so it seemed fair to use her own. Would he know Symon if he passed him on the streets somewhere? Did he know that he wasn't Alexi Gregorsky's biological son?

Did it even matter to him?

Erik tried to sleep but found it hard; these old memories and thoughts stirred in his mind.

_And with the war risen in Europe how safe was it really for them to return to Paris?_

Erik decided that it would be unimportant until they arrived. He and his family would be catching a private coast from a coastal port and ride into Paris to the cemetry that her father was buried in. It was what she would have truly wanted.

Gustave watched his father over the following weeks trying to depict what it was that was nagging on his mind. Something in that newspaper had caught his attention but wasn't letting him go. He read every obituary and every name, but nothing listed made any sense to him. He gave up, after a week on the newspaper and simpoly waited for his father to open up. Which he didn't do until the ceremony for Christine's burial was complete, and she had been in the earth another week.

"So are you finally going to tell me now what's been bothering you since we were on the ship?"

Erik looked at his son, "It's that obvious?"

Gustave nodded shortly.

"Paris, is what's bothering me. This was my home too for a long time." he began, "I had a selcuded life outside of Christine, and I even had a very close friend over the Girys."

"And?"

"She," he began.

"Crap, you've been thinking of another woman?" Gustave felt suddenly betrayed, "Mother had only been dead three months and now you are thinking of someone else?"

"Not for my own benefit," he corrected his son, "Her husband is dead-that is why I was reading the obituaries on the ship."

Gustave mellowed out slightly but he was not convinced, "Mother always said she wouldn't take your name. Now I think I understand why." he paused, "What's her name?"

"Michelle,"

"And?"

"I betrayed her when she was with child long ago, Gustave," they walked to a nearby caf'e, "We wrote an opera titled _Don Juan_, and I killed nearly two hundred people because I was madly in love with your mother and had no way to split my heart in two."

Gustave listened carefully as they entered the caf'e and ordered two espressos. "Was Michelle's child yours?"

Erik didn't answer directly, "She believed so,"

"So I have some half sibling?"

He nodded, "Perhaps,"

"When were you going to tell me?"

Erik didn't answer as he took his small cup and went to a corner booth. Gustave followed.

"I didn't know if I was ever going to tell you," Erik answered, "I don't even know if they are still alive thanks to this world war. I expect that they might be-at least her children."

"You are using plural words, father."

"She has two children, as listed in the newspaper."

"The Gregorsky woman?" Erik looked at him as if he had spoke in blasphomy, "I read the paper through and through trying to figure out why the obituary meant so much to you, father. I pretty much have every name memorized on that particular page."

"Yes," Erik answered slowly, "Michelle Le'Clair'e Gregorsky," he chewed on the last part of her name slowly, "We spent a lot of time together,"

Gustave sat quietly in the caf'e with his father, "So what do you want to do about it?"

"Nothing," he answered.

Gustave was unconvinced as they sat there drinkig espresso and watching the people outside bustle about in quick succession.

"If it's alright with you Gustave, I want to stay here in Paris for a while,"

"Fair enough," he answered, "But if the war gets out of hand, we're out of here."

Erik didn't answer, his eyes watching every person who passed by searching through the faces.

Gustave knew why.

He was looking for his old friend.

Erik bought and apartment near an old abandoned opera house, that Gustave was unfamilar with, and barely went out. Perhaps because of his age, but he was very active inside. Gustave let his father do what he pleased, but over the following year they barely did anything of signifiacant importance, beyond keeping tabs of the news. Erik hardly spoke Michelle's name over the year, however he talked in his sleep.

Gustave thought at first that they had company, but as he stopped beside his father's bedroom, he knew that they were completely alone. He listened carefully . . . hearing both his mother's and Michelle's names mentioned. He couldn't hear what it was he was saying, but then again if he was really asleep, he may not know what it was he was saying anyways.

A year since their arrival had passed, and it was now December 1918, on the verge of 1919. They watched the snows come and go, the sounds of the militry as they marched by, the weather beating down on them, the war came through Paris and went out of Paris, but Gustave was becoming bored with hiding out as his father read newspapers reading obituaries and news articles dating as far back as 1915.

Gustave went out into the streets seeking solitude from his bumbling father, seeking answers to his thoughts. He pondered whether or not he should persue and speak to this old flame of Erik's and whether or not to tell him if he did find this woman.

But where would he start? Everything that his old friend had been was destroyed; the Opera Popular that Erik once lived in was abandoned, and the streets were not as bright as they once were. He frowned; no answer was going to come from having nothing to go on, but it was better than hiding within and waiting for nothing to come.

He walked without thinking and ended up in the old opera house any way. The floors had been swept, but it wasn't clean. It had no glory like his father had once described. There were broken windows, and shattered glass everywhere. Smoke stains ruined the walls and the entire building seemed to have fallen under a gray scale decor. Things were black with ruin, and some gray from dust.

_Who would leave such a place in ruin?_

He walked slowly through the building hearing nothing beyond the sound of the empty space, and not expecting anything out of the ordinary. There was just nothing.

Or so he thought.

He ended up entering the boys dormatory, and the breath was knocked out of him in suprise to find it with old imprints of dead people within. The sudden horror of what he saw frightened him; the shapes of people no more than sixteen he guessed long dead, and buried.

What kind of owner would have let all of these children die?

Then he heard something.

Footsteps.

_Was this place haunted?_ Gustave turned and as quietly as he could neared the origin of the footsteps. As he got closer he found that it was more than a ghost, but a woman's step, by the soud the heel made on the old marble floors.

He sat in the nearest shadow and watched as an elder woman crossed the foyer and up the grand staircase. The woman was perhaps in her fifties . . . as old as his father, but most likely younger. Her hair was pale, but it seemed that it had once been a burning red color, and despite her age, she held herself with grace.

Could this be the mysterious Michelle mentioned by his father repeatedly?

He waited until she was out of sight, then slowly crept from the shadows and started up the same staircase. He would observe and if caught only then inquire who she was. But when he reached the top no one was there. He looked at the darkened floors trying to depict fresh footsteps but found none.

A chill ran up his spine as he stood there, heard a door close in the distance then the sound of a voice as it rang out, in a slightly less than perfected tone.

_Age does that to voices,_ he told himself. But the voice sounded better with each minute that passed. It was awkward to Gustave. No old woman he knew sounded as pristine, save for his mother who was now long gone in Heaven.

_Ghosts._

Gustave turned and left the opera house, dreading his own thoughts of supernatural powers at work.

Gustave never told his father about the phantom-like woman who sang like she was still young. In fact he never told his father that he had been within the Opera Popular. But it seemed like Erik knew, that he had gone in but didn't speak on it.

Then one afternoon he spoke up.

"There was a fire at the turn of the century that ruined all the work Michelle put into the opera house. A gas leak, the papers say, and ninety or so people were killed students and staff. No one knew,"

Gustave gulped recalling the frames of dead bodies.

"Any word whether or not your friend is still alive?"

Erik shook his head.

"I say we stay in town for another year," Erik said finally after some silence had passed, "Then I would like to move on. Perhaps return to America, and avoid the war as best as we can."

"You're avoiding it well hiding out here,"

Erik shook his head, "Demons haunt me here, Gustave, but I am not ready to leave. Not until I know she's gone from this world."

"Why don't you go look for her?"

"I cannot," Erik answered, "After the things I did to her it wouldn't be right."

"How about I find her then,"

"And do what exactally?"

Gustave gulped at the bitter sound in his father's voice, full of regret.

"Nothing, it was just a suggestion."

"She'll turn up in these pages sooner or later." he paused, "And when she does then we'll go . . . together."

But it was nearly seven months until the first sign of Michelle came up; an auction at the Opera Popular to sell off old antiquities. The building was going up on the list as well, along with a chandelier, posters, old costume jewelry, and trinkets from the day.

The reason was odd, but Erik seemed to understand better than Gustave.

"Her buisness partner's dead . . . died of an alcohol poisoning." Gustave read the name; _Carlotta Dudacceli Hauster_.

"Mother said you tortured a woman named Carlotta,"

"She was past her prime and wouldn't get over it,"

"How old does one have to be before they can no longer sing?"

"It depends. In her case though it was twenty-five."

Gustave nodded, "Can someone who's say . . . your age still sing good?"

"Your mother could,"

"But she's different,"

Erik sat in silence for a bit, "It's possible, but very few can." he looked at his son with question then shrugged, "It's possible."

"Do you want to go to the auction?"

Erik nodded.

"Very well then," he paused noticing it was an invitational event, "I shall request a couple of tickets to enter the auction."

Some week before the event, Gustave went out and bought two formal suits for he and his father to wear to the event. He paused only once as they walked back to the apartment, as his father's eyes dropped on a young woman with firey gold hair and green eyes. She carried a small parcell and an umbrella. Gustave noticed her as well but he sensed for a different reason than his father, and ushered his father forward to the apartment.

"She's pretty, isn't she?" Erik asked as they reached the corner of a street.

Gustave said nothing.

"Don't worry, I am not so old to be perverse, Gustave. I know you thought so."

"What did you see father?"

"The first actual sign of Michelle,"

"But that girl is younger than me father,"

"Yes, younger than you. The near mirror image of her mother though,"

Gustave gulped, "How do you know?"

"The hair and eyes . . . thos are her mother's," he paused, "Though Michelle had redder hair than that girl did."

"Then it's possible, you are imagining things?"

"Possible, but doubtful." he paused, "I want to see Christinen before we go to the auction, son. I want one last visit before I dare try speaking to Michelle."

"Have you even gone to see her?"

"Yes, but you're never home when I go. I didn't want you to fret,"

Gustave didn't protest as they walked the rest of the way to the apartment, "When do you want to see her?"

"The morning of the auction."

"Cutting it a bit close aren't we?"

Erik didn't answer as they entered the building and into their flat.

The leaves twisted in the wind, the morning of the auction had arrived, and Erik was already dressed for the occasion. He seemed more lively than he had been for some time, and it rose question in Gustave's mind, as he walked about in the apartment not fully dressed seeking breakfast, coffee, and the newspaper.

"You're up early,"

"I am going to Christine's tomb," Erik said pulling his silver enlaid cane from a vessel near the door.

"Aren't you going to wait for me?"

"No, my dear boy." Erik shivered slightly, "I need to see her alone. the things I must say shouldn't be heard by anyone other than your mother."

"Do you have your ticket for the auction?"

Erik touched the left side of his chest, where his jacket had an interior pocket.

"Very well," Gustave felt himself become slightly disapointed by this action his father was taking, "I shall meet you at the auction then."

"Very good then," Erik didn't wait a moment longer and left.

Gustave stood there for a long while watching the door wondering just what it was that had been so important that he had to do it without him.

Erik caught a horse drawn cab, and instructed to be taken to the cemetry. His old frame was still strong, and this day would either strengthen that frame or break it. It didn't matter so long as he closed all the doors he had left open in his life.

Christine would be first though.

He called the cab to stop for a moment so he could pick up a red rose for his dearly departed. The cab driver didn't mind stopping since Erik was paying for the entire trip, and waited patiently. When he returned, they continued on. The red rose was still in it's prime, and with one black silk ribbon, he tied a diamond ring to it-the one he had taken from her during the infamous masquerade ball. The one he could have taken with Michelle but chose otherwise. One he could have not totally wreaked and been a rather pleasant participant in.

Things in his life were begining to haunt him without Christine at his side, and there was only one person who could change the course of how much more he would have to deal with.

They reached the cemetry, and Erik stepped out, rose in one hand, cane in the other, he made his way down the autumn ridden sidewalk to Christine, whose tomb sat beside her father's. He tipped his black top hat to Christine's father then turned to his right and faced Christine, laying the red rose on the base of the elegant statue.

"Christine," he began. The name brought old pains up from his soul willing him to let tears fall down his face, "Christine, I am so sorry for all the things I did to you in life. The past haunts me every time I awaken. I miss you so . . . the past never existed until you were gone. You gave me a son, who had barely left my side since we came here to Paris." he paused confused inside, "I don't know why you really wanted to return here beyond being with your father. I don't think you'd approve of me these days anymore. I have been reading in old the world I left behind. There's so much that has happened. So many things I could have prevented."

He paused as the wind blew leaves around him like a small cyclone, "I miss you every day Christine, but I want you to forgive me for the things I mean to do today. I don't want you to be angry with me. You know as well as I do that I have another son, and it's time I met him. It'll mean seeing Michelle, and I know you weren't always find of her-mostly because of me, but . . . there was so much more when it was you and I." he paused, "I need your approval to see her and her family. A final closure before I can fully continue onwards."

The small wind tunnel ended suddenly and then there was nothing. Not a sound out in the world that could have prevented him from hearing a needle drop on the ground.

He took it as a sign of her approval, as a message to not continue to hide from the world. He rose from his knees, tears streaking his cheeks, as he leaned forward to kiss the headstone, "Good bye Christine, I shall see you soon."

He turned and walked back to where the carriage was waiting for him, then he noticed a name he hadn't seen when he entered;

Alexi Gregorsky.

He paused for only a moment, the simple tombstone with his name, the dates of his birth and death, as well as a basic message of whom he was and what he had become in life.

_Loving father, loyal husband, grand friend and employee. May he rest in peace knowing he's in the hearts of all of those whom his life has touched._

He turned away, tipping his hat to him, and entered the carriage, knowing that Alexi would approve of Erik's move to seek out his old friend.

"Where to, ser?"

"The Opera Popular," Erik answered, handing him his first part of the few payments to come. Then a thought hit him, "Wait-back to the apartment building you picked me up from."

The cab driver didn't need directions.

But Erik had left something in the arpartment that gave him some hope of seeing Michelle one last time.

A single, slightly worn out velvet yellow rose.

Gustave stood amongst the crowd as the chandelier rose, it's electric power filled the room with an eerie glow, and the elder people around him gasped at the grand beauty of it. Raoul who had come to the event seemed lost in memory of the lights, as well as Madame Giry who despite her age seemed more bewildered. There was a small turnout for the event, but Raoul was barely attentive beyond the lights and his prize of a music box.

"We shall start the bidding at a hundred franks," the auctioneer called out.

Gustave didn't participate in any of the bids, until the end when number 679 was called out for a poster of the performance of _Don Juan._ It seemed only then did he become recognized by Madame Giry and Raoul. They watched as he won the poster, and then sat silent for the rest of the event.

Erik entered as the last bid was being called for on a mobile elephant prop from the performance of Hannible. Erik hid in the corner noticing the presence of Raoul and Madame Giry, and waitied until the crowd began to thin, and Raoul had left. Then he moved to stand beside his son.

"How was it?" his face troubled by seeing Raoul.

"Quite intriguing," he paused noticing that Erik's face hadn't left Raoul's frame.

"What is it?"

"I gave Michelle that music box for our child on the night I left,"

"I am sure there's a reason it was sold off today."

Erik nodded solemly as they stood watching the last of the people leave.

A boy and girl however were still discussing paperwork with the auctioneer paying him his due wages, and such.

The young boy . . . a young man to be precise noticed that Erik and Gustave hadn't left yet, and turned from the conversation to them.

"I am afraid that the auction is over, good sers."

Symon stared at them calmly noticing somthing vaguely familiar about the two, but he wasn't certain what. He had been called for war, and this as his last day before being deployed he didn't want any trouble.

"I am sorry, ser," the younger of the two men answered, holding the _Don Juan _poster board answered, "But I didn't hear the opera house itself being sold today."

This was true, as Michelle had decided to leave the building to her children as a frm of income that they could refurbish, remodel and use as a form of income.

"The Opera Popular was removed from the bids this morning."

"Of course,"

"Who owns this building?" the elder man asked.

"My mother, Madame Michelle Gregorsky."

The younger man looked at the elder in suprise.

Symon dropped down from the stage and walked to them, "I am her son, Symon," he stuck out his hand shaking each.

"I am Gustave," the younger answered, "and this is my father Erik."

"A pleasure to meet you both," he turned to the stage as his sister Rachell joined him, "This is my sister Rachell,"

They shook her hand.

"How can we help you?" Rachell asked.

"My father was hoping to see Madame Gregorsky," Gustave answered before his father could.

Rachell seemed lost suddenly as she she looked from them to Symon.

Symon knew why then, but held his tongue, "My mother is in her office," he shot his sister a look of silence, then gestured to the two men, "You may follow me, but I doubt she will take visitors,"

"Why's that?" Gustave asked as they followed him and Rachell out of the main theatre.

"She doesn't speak to anyone really when she comes here," Rachell answered quickly, "She comes here on her own time and does what she will."

"Does she sing?" Gustave asked.

Symon paused in step, and turned to face the Christine Daae's son, "She does-rather well in fact for being old."

Erik nodded, glancing at his son with some question, but they continued down a hallway where a voice rose as they moved closer.

"May I ask how you know our mother?" Rachell asked Erik trying to fill the silence beyond their mother's song.

"Isn't it obvious?" Symon stopped again turning to his sister answering before Erik could even part his lips to answer.

"But,"

"It's alright," Erik cut in before anyone else could speak. He waited a brief moment before anyone spoke, "I am an old friend of Michelle's."

"I'd say more than that," Symon remarked.

Gustave had noticed the obvious similarities but he also noticed that Rachell only showed the mother's looks.


	30. Chapter 30

Michelle held her tongue as she heard voices outside in the hallway. Her son and daughter but there were others. All the voices were talking in rushed sounds as if whatever it was that they spoke of was of secrecy. She poured herself a glass of red wine, and stepped out of her office. Now in her early sixties, she was not as good of a singbird as she had once been, but her daughter showed obvious signs of becoming a great performer. Her son was going to the army in the morning to aid in the war against the Germans, and all her dreams had been fulfilled in life as she lived comfortably in her retired years. She hadn't gained much in her husband's death, but she had been given enough to at least live what was left of her own life to enjoy herself.

She stepped into the hallway, her dress black with a dark red lace trim moved with her body giving her a liquid like look as she turned to face her children.

"Symon?" she could see well, and hear almost everything still, but she was uncertain what it was that her children were speaking about and to whom.

Symon turned with Rachell to meet their mother, "Mom,"

"What is it dears?"

"We were hoping not to disturb you while in your office, but there are some people who would like to speak with you if you have a minute?"

"Of course I have minutes," she grinned at her son, but paled when her children stepped aside for the guests.

What she saw couldn have put her in an early grave if she was any older. She stared quietly at the young man, a spitting image of his parents, and almost a twin to her own son. The elder man though took her breath away, forcing her to swallow deeply before breathing properly. Her wine glass fell out of her hand onto the floor, spilling its contents on the already ruined carpet.

"Mother, may I present to you, Misseur Erik, and his son Gustave," Symon introduced formally doing his best to ignore his mother's shock.

Michelle curtsied stiffly, making certain she wouldn't fall over herself, and looked at the two men.

"My mother, Michelle Gregorsky," Rahell finished for her brother, introducing the two men in turn to her.

"Lady Le'Clair'e?" Gustave looked to his father, whom nodded, his gray blue eyes locked on Michelle's greens.

"How can I help you?" Michelle asked seeking formalness where she didn't know how to act.

"Michelle," Erik came forward, taking her hands. Gustave, she saw stiffened by his father's movement, "Long have I dreamt of this moment,"

Michelle didn't speak, her thoughts bewildered as if she was dreaming. Erik hadn't written, or even dared to contact her since just before her marriage. Now he stood before her as if they were young again.

"Erik," she answered blindly unaware of what was happening.

She noticed in his hands that had taken hers something familiar then; her old faux rose that she had given him long ago as a token of farewell to Erik when her sevices were no longer needed in the pre-production of _Don Juan_.

"Michelle, I have come hoping to reopen the door to our friendship," Erik began straight to the point, which was clearly not how he wanted to start this conversation based on his expression.

Michelle pulled her hands away slowly, "It's been twenty-one years, Erik; much has changed since you left my life,"

"I know,"

She looked to her two children, one twenty-one, the other sixteen.

"Most of my life is over,"

"I know,"

She sighed, "I long for the return of my husband,"

"As I do for Christine, but they are both gone, and I want to mend the broken bridge in our lives,"

"I had already forgiven you, Erik. The night you left for America with the Girys." she turned to face him.

"And I never forgave myself for the pain I caused you,"

"You should," she cut him off, "I have two beautiful children, and they are the reason I am alive these days."

She could see her children smile weakly at her statement, she turned to face them, "You can go home if you wish. I will be along shortly. We are still going out tonight on your behalf Symon."

Gustave's brow rose in question but lowered when he clearly recalled the uniform Symon was wearing.

"Very well mother," Symon turned with his sister and began to leave, then paused, "You're welcome to join us Gustave; I think it would be good for our parents to be alone for a while."

Gustave nodded, and followed without looking to his father for approval.

Now she was completely alone. She gulped quietly as she returned her attention to Erik.

A mix of old emotions swept her but she had learned over the years that tears brought her nothing, so she didn't cry before Erik.

"Why did you really come here?" she asked Erik, stepping side from the wet patch on the floor where her goblet had dropped, but picked up the glass, and turned to her office to refill its cup. Erik followed behind her.

"I came back to Paris almost two years ago to bury Christine,"

"The wife who wouldn't marry you,"

"Madame Giry told you that?"

"Years ago," she answered, opening up the bottle and pouring two glasses with red wine. She handed Erik the fresher of the two glasses and sat down in a chair that was slightly burnt, leaving her normal cheap foldable one open to her guest.

"Thank you," he muttered quietly as he sat down on hte chair, glass in hand.

"So you've been hiding out here for a while then," she observed.

"A while, yes."

"Why not go back to the states?"

"They are not home without Christine,"

"What have you done here since you returned?"

"Watched, listened, and did a lot of reading."

"So you know about my misfortunes here then. Why this place is not a school,"

"Indeed," he paused, "What shall you do with this place since you didn't sell it today?"

"I am leaving it to my children to do with it as they see fit."

Erik nodded silent. Michelle trembled slightly; in what was left, of her own life, she had doubted the possibility of her old lover and friend, colleague and co-writer would dare return to see her.

"You kept the rose I gave you,"

"A momento of better days,"

"'Better days'," she repeated his words carefully, "Yes before the exciting ones came and went."

"Michelle, I want to spend as much time as I can, making amends to you. The things I did were unfair and not what you deserved back then."

"I am not the one you have to make amends with," Michelle answered.

Erik looked confused.

"For years I told a lie to Symon, his true father should have been Alexi but when he passed away, Symon was forced to see the truth. He was so upset with me, and his sister despite her innocence in the matter."

She watched as his gaze dropped.

"Until then, the friendship between us cannot begin," she paused, "It is however, nice to see you again, Erik."

His eyes gazed up to meet hers again, "But he leaves tomorrow for war,"

"Then you have one night to make it up to him. You are welcome to join us for his farewell departure dinner. Both you and Gustave,"

"You sold his music box,"

"He wanted to help pay Albert Hauster back for the elegant funeral ceremony on behalf of Alexi. Most of his things were sold off in other methods. I fear he doesn't plan on returning home to Rachell and I,"

Erik understood the love between a father and his son well, and clearly Alexi was Symon's father, beyond the blood and the grave. He would have to do some serious talking to Symon to achieve his forgiveness.

"I will help him see things differently," he answered Michelle.

She nodded, "When you do we can talk further about you and I," she drained what was left in her glass, and rose, "Walk with me?"

"Where to?" he asked, finishing his fine glass of wine.

She smiled kindly, taking his hand, "Home for now. I am certain Gustave went with them to our apartment."

Erik nodded, taking her arm and escorting her out. His heart drummed in his ears as old emotions rose through his mind. He had at first felt like running from her, as fast as he could, then the fear was replaced by an old emotion of love, then dread at her proposition.

She was still beautiful despite the difference in age since he last saw her. Her red hair mixing with gray streaks, and her skin starting to lose it's elastisity. Her voice and eyes however were still young and based on how she carried herself. Her ears were obviously still good based on how she listened to him.

They walked out of the Opera Popular, in silence, but in hope of coninuting to hear her speak he began making small talk, "Did you ever make it to Russia?"

She stiffened slightly, but relaxed, "Once, though with barely any warmth in the reception. I don't plan on going back ever."

"No?"

"No," she confirmed, "There are some things about human tradition that I shall never understand."

"Like?"

She looked up at him as if he should know the answer to that, "Family traditions; they were not fond of their son taking a nn-virgin bride who had a child by another man."

"Oh,"

"Alexi didn't care," she smiled in reflection, "He loved Symon like any father loves their child," she paused, "Where have you been living?"

He pointed at a building across from the opera house, "There on the fourth floor. The one with the red drapes,"

She looked up at it, and smiled.

"You?"

She gestured forwards with her chin, to the end of the street where his sons and her daughter stood talking outside of a different apartment complex.

Erik's brow rose, "How is it that we lived so close to one another that we never ran into one another?"

She shrugged, "Fate perhaps meant for you to see me today over any other day."

He held his tongue as they reached their children.

Gustave looked at him kindly, whereas Symon looked at him emotionless and cold. Rachell stood beside her bother, but she looked at him with more curiosity over anything else.

"Come my dears," Michelle gestured to them all, releasing herself from Erik's arm, so she could open the door, "Tea?"

Gustave looked to his father in question, "Come Gustave, we are Michelle's guests today."

Symon threw him a look of displeasure, but didn't protest.


	31. Chapter 31

Symon sat beside his mother and sister at dinner, Erik opposite his mother and Gustave beside his sister. He seethed over the idea of having his blood father here, a man who had hurt his mother, and abandoned his own child for the one in the womb of another. He hated his mother for permitting these two men to join him on his last night in Paris. But they ate well, and drank fine wine on part of the profits they had made that day, enough to pay back Albert. When the dessert was served ate and finished, Michelle toasted to her son's good fortune, and protection, a final drink before the night ended.

As they all exited the dinner Erik slowed so he matched Symon's pace. Rachell and Gustave joined Michelle.

"Can we talk?"

Symon stared at his blood-father, "Why? There's nothing to discuss."

"Yes, I believe you would like to think there's nothing wrong but it's obvious that something is really bothering you."

Symon paused, as the others gained more distance from them, and when he was certain that they were out of ear shot, he turned to face Erik, "What do you expect? A warm welcome from all of us? You abandoned me for another bastard child that didn't know of your existence until he was eight."

Erik started to say something but Symon cut him off, "I have spent my entire life believing myself to be a Gregorsky, and then on the day my father died in his sleep, I was told by the coroner that I was not blood to Alexi. My mother hid the truth from me! What the hell do you think of that? To suddenly be labled as a bastard? You ruined my life!"

"You cannot blame your mother though for this,"

"Is that what she told you?" he asked viciously, "That it was her fault? It is her fault; she could have told me sooner. I was ready."

"Symon," Erik paused, "I am sorry,"

"Sorry doesn't cut it." his eyes narrowed, as tears of frustration welled up in his eyes, "All my life I have always known I was different from my sister, I knew it especially because my mother married Alexi after I was born-I remember." he paused, "No adult I know marries after having children unless the children are mistakes. I didn't want to believe it but thanks to the death of dad, and the fucking coroner, I know better."

"You are not a mistake,"

"I was good at playing the piano, father sucked at it, even when I tried to teach him. Carlotta taught me to play."

"I didn't know she even knew how to play," Erik observed sarcatic remarks ran through his mind.

"She knew notation for what I could play instinctually. She knew I was a bastard," the past part of his statement came like a realization. Symon began to cry, despite being twenty-one, he could feel his soul crumble as he shouted at his blood-father, all the hate leaving him as he expressed to him every thing he knew with contempt. "I wish that you had never come into my life,"

"Symon," Erik stated unflinching, "Despite what you feel towards me I must ask you to consider something,"

"What?" he really didn't want to; this was the man who ruined the world he knew and loved most.

"You have a mother who sacraficed everything she had in order to help you and your sister along in life. She loves you deeply, and wants you to return home. Do that for her, will you?"

"What makes you think that?"

"It's what she thinks, not me,"

Symon stared at his blood father, hate melting slowly. He could clearly see that despite his old age and the many years of abandonment he had come to Paris obviously to bury his un-brided wife, and make amends. He hated Erik, but his love for his mother was stronger than his hate.

"Okay,"

"Good," Erik answered, "I know you hate me-it's still obvious, but when you return, you may ask me anything you want."

"If you haven't died yet,"

"'If' indeed," he grinned, "But the same could be said of you as well on that matter."

"What do you mean?"

"Don't die."

Symon grinned slightly, but he knew that Erik was being serious.

"I want you to answer one question now however." Symon had one that burned in his consciousness.

Erik stared at him in suprise by his boldness, "Yes?"

"Why did you choose Christine over my mother?"

He could see that he had struck a nerve in Erik, but he waited unfaltering.

"I was . . . confused," Erik answered, "I had a woman who loved me for what I was, but I wanted something more. You're mother was perfect, but she,"

"Wasn't Christine?" Symon guessed ending Erik's statement.

He watched Erik's gaze drop, "Yes,"

"It's fine," Symon finally said, placing a hand on his father's shoulder, "I forgive you," he grinned briefly, "If it hadn't turned out like this, I might not have had my sister."

He watched as Erik stepped back and onto a public bench his breath labored, as tears began to form and fall down his face. Symon watched this, and then without thinking he did something he hadn't planned on; he embraced his blood-father.

The following morning arrived, and Michelle embraced her son as they stood at the train station. Many parents stood to see off their sons as they went to war, but they would never equate to the value she had of Symon. Gustave and Erik stood beside her and Rachell patiently watching.

"I am going to miss you mother," Symon told her, his dark hair combed back under the militant cap provided.

"I know," she kissed his cheeks.

"I will be home soon, I promise."

She smiled as unfamiliar tears fell onto her cheeks, "I love you Symon,"

"I love you mother," he turned to Rachell, and embraced her, "I love you Rachell,"

"And I you Symon. Humor me and don't let the Germans win?"

He chuckled, and reached around his neck and for a brief moment, Michelle was uncertain of what he was doing, but then she knew. He removed his silver necklace that Alexi had given him when Symon was small and Alexi was going to war. "You should have this sister,"

Rachell paused, "No, I cannot,"

"Please; it should stay in Gregorsky hands."

Rachell paled as he clasped it around her neck.

"I shall hang onto it until you come home brother, but you are a Gregorsky whether or not it's in your blood."

Symon smiled at his sister and embraced her again and then faced his newly extended family.

"Gustave," he shook his hand, "Take care of my sister will you?"

Rachell shot him a look but didn't say anything.

"Of course," Gustave embraced him, "I am glad to have a brother." Symon was not comfortable with calling him a brother yet, but still embraced him anyway.

Then he turned to Erik, "I expect to see you here when I return . . . father,"

Erik embraced his son, "I look forward to it, Symon," he paused, "My son,"

Michelle watched with a positive face as her son turned away and boarded the train. Erik stood beside Michelle placing his hand on her shoulder.

"You raised a fine boy, my dear."

Michelle reached up with her hand to touch the one on her shoulder. Her eyes locked on her son, watching him go to war.

She turned to her family when the train was gone, new and old and said calmly, "Shall we go home?"

"Which one?" Gustave looked at his father, whom laughed heartily, and answered, "Ours for the time."

Gustave nodded and walked with Rachell, Erik held Michelle's hand as they followed their children.

She felt him pause in step and she restisted the urge not to stop, but did anyway.

"What is it?"

Erik hesitated for a moment as if trying to find the right words, but he didn't think on it for long as his hand released from hers to touch her cheek. An old burn responded to his touch, and Michelle felt like cowering, but froze in her resistance as his lips brushed against hers.

"I love you Michelle,"


	32. Chapter 32

Three long years had gone by, and no one counted them like the father of a son he barely knew. Eric stood by at the train station, as he waited for his son to return from war. He had received a telegram begging him not to say anything to his mother, or the others. But he had written because he needed help getting home. It sounded strange to Eric because he knew Symon was more than capable of traveling on his own, but he did as told. It worked out for the best, since the others had taken a trip to the funeral of the Vicompte de'Chagny, Raoul, whom died of what was presumed to be heart failure. Eric guessed a broken heart, but then again he would be dead too now if it hadn't been for Gustave and the Gregorski family.

The Le'Clair'e family, really.

Eric would have gone to the funeral today, but life seemed more important than death, and though his son was hurt by Eric's decision to be absent from the service, he had made up an idea for why he understood what his father was doing.

Yet here he was waiting on a train.

The train rolled in some hour after he had taken a bench seat watching people come and go, others sitting about like he was waiting. No one saw Eric, which was all the better. The wheels screeched against the rails as the train came to a halt, and the doors opened to the military men coming off the train.

For a brief moment, Eric couldn't believe that the right train had come. Here at the very end of the first 'world' war, the soldiers on this train were the wounded. Not the heroes. But the wounded came out of the cars and into the arms of loving families.

Symon couldn't have mean this train, could he?

Eric stood looking at the faces, some met his gaze with hope, but when it was clear he was not the one they were looking for, they moved on. He waited, and as the last of the passengers disembarked, he finally knew he saw his son.

He was indeed wounded by war. Eric moved forward with his walking stick lightly used as he moved to embrace his son yet stopped himself at the last minute. Symon's left arm was broken, and a brace was on his right leg. That was the least of his concerns, and Eric knew why Symon had written Eric only.

Symon's face was badly injured.

"Symon," Eric smiled at his son, "Welcome home,"

Symon wrapped his good arm, about his father, "Thanks for coming," he glanced about as if wondering if the rest of his family had come.

For a minute an awkward silence passed between them, finally Symon spoke up, "I guess you can understand why I asked you to come alone then?"

"I understand,"

"I couldn't let them all see me here at the station like this," he gestured to the left side of his face, burnt by some great heat and cut multiple times, "There was an explosion, and I pushed the commanding officer out of the way when the blast came. I wasn't awarded for the effort since apparently, the officer's head got cut." He paused looking about awkwardly, "I guess I don't have that much to complain about. Some of these boys are younger than I and are in worse condition,"

"But they aren't you Symon," Eric countered as a staff member of the train handed Symon his duffle bag.

"Thank you sir,"

"No problem, laddie,"

The two of them left, returning to the apartment that Michelle had inherited from her previous husband. Symon looked about, noticing that things had changed, and that he apparently shared a room with Gustave.

"I hope you don't mind; we were kicked out of the one across the street for no real reason, beyond the landlord wanted to shelter his family from being drafted."

"Cowards," Symon muttered more to himself, though Eric heard it, but quickly changed the topic, "Where is everyone?"

"Away," Eric answered in brief making certain that Gustave hadn't decided to make use of Symon's dresser, his son remained silent waiting for an explanation, but received none until Eric finished picking over the new dresser, "They went to attend the Vicompte's funeral."

"Raoul?"

He nodded.

"I am sorry if you wanted to go,"

For a moment, Eric almost did regret it but swallowed down the sympathy, knowing that Raoul had Christine now. "It doesn't matter. It would bring up bitter feelings I would rather not think on,"

Symon helped him put away his things, hesitating when he couldn't reach further due to his injuries.

"Don't worry, Symon. These things happen, and I do not mind."

"When will they return?"

"Sometime tonight," Eric answered, knowing that many of the people attending would recognize Gustave and wish to speak to him. Gustave was fortunate and was the only living 'heir' to Raoul's things.

"How are they?" he asked.

"They are well, and will be happier when they see that you are home,"

They sat in silence for a minute.

"Father?"

"Symon,"

"Will they dislike me for how I have returned? I mean,"

"I know what you mean," Eric cut him off before Symon could stumble over his words, "They will love you just the same as they did the day you left. There will be some shock since you didn't really give them any warning, but they will understand,"

"But I look like a disfigured grotesque,"

Eric moved, kneeling now before his son, "Symon, I promise you that they will think no less of you just because you've returned different from what you looked like before." Eric's own face hadn't improved with age, but with age, he could at least let his scars look more like age lines.

Symon nodded, and they moved to the front room, and sat on the plush couch.

"Father?"

"Yes?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"You can ask me anything,"

Symon looked about the room, "Have you married my mother yet?"

Eric shook his head, "I thought it would be best to wait to propose such a notion to your mother when you returned."

For a moment, Symon remained silent, as if trying to understand why Eric had decided on this. "I am glad, that you waited. It would have been a shame to miss seeing my mother look glorious on her wedding day to you,"

Michelle entered her apartment followed closely by Rachell and Gustave who leaned against his sister with some pain from this funeral. So many people wished Gustave the best, and many saw Rachell as his significant other instead of his step sister. Michelle wasn't certain whether or not she had thought of it as a compliment or not. The apartment was lit up, and the evening meal had clearly been prepared by Eric. The smell was far diviner than anything Michelle could create though she wasn't a lousy cook. There were five chairs at the table, candles were lit, and for a moment, Michelle missed the most important thing about it.

The fifth seat was occupied.

"Symon," Her hand caught the nearest wall for support, "When did you come back?"

"A few hours ago, mother," as he rose, she saw each wound one by one as he moved, her eyes catching the broken arm last.

"Symon!" Gustave and Rachell said his name in simultaneous cheer. He winced at the duel hug from his siblings, but didn't say anything on the account only too happy to care.

Michelle looked to the kitchen entry as Eric leaned against the doorway to watch the moment. He looked content and somewhat satisfied with himself, though, she could see a worried edge in his brow.

He looked away from the children long enough to look at Michelle and smile warmly. He turned his gaze back for a moment, then glancing at the clock, turned away back into the kitchen. Gustave and Rachell pulled away from Symon and now Michelle took the time to embrace her son, and placing one hand on his good cheek, kissed his scarred side, catching him off guard only for a moment.

"Welcome home my dear,"

"Thanks mother,"

"So it's all over now?" Gustave asked Symon. Michelle stepped aside and sat, in a chair watching them. Symon looked so much like his father, yet now, it was as if she was looking at a carbon copy of him, though admittedly, Symon's hair was thicker than Eric's had been at that age.

"For now—but there is already talk of another in the future. I will of course be too old to participate, as will you,"

They laughed, and chattered as they had Symon tell them a couple light stories of life in the military. For Michelle, who had read these tales in his letters already rose and stepped into the kitchen, where Eric was placing the final touches on the dishes already plated up.

"As always a glorious work of art,"

"And as always, my dear, you are too kind," he paused in his work to look upon Michelle with a warm grin.  
>"Thank you for picking Symon up today,"<p>

He paused, his grin faltering briefly, "You knew?"

"Not exactly, but the evidence today makes it clear that you had planned this."

"You know Raoul, would have disapproved of me being there,"

"I know," she agreed, and two of the completed dishes in her hands, "But I still thank you for this,"

He tilted his head down and kissed her lips gently, "You're welcome,"

She turned and went out into the dining room where the young adults still spoke in eagerness.

"Dinner,"

"Wonderful," Gustave moved quickly sitting to Symon's right and Rachell to his left.

She set the plates down to her sons, and returned to the kitchen to pick up another pair, setting them out to her daughter and herself as Eric entered with his own plate. He helped her into his seat, and took his own beside Gustave whom couldn't stop looking at Symon with joy.

It was clear no one was looking at Symon because of his scars. She hoped he could see that as clear as she did.


End file.
